


The Seeker Of Stars

by ChatDuNoir



Category: Original Work
Genre: A dash of magic, Believe in the impossible, Christmas, Christmas Romance, F/F, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Grief/Mourning, Healing, SmallTown, bookstore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 146,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChatDuNoir/pseuds/ChatDuNoir
Summary: Christie is the young, quiet, introverted owner of the book café ‘The Storybook Nook’ in Shieldaig, Scotland. She has a routine she follows every single day, and she prefers her simple, quiet life in the highlands with her ever faithful dog, Tiny. But she is also grieving over the woman she lost two years ago.Helena Frost is struggling writer from London.  Stuck in a writer’s block ever since that day she woke up in the white room and everything was changed. She changed. Ever since that day, Helena has been feeling nothing but emptiness, and she does not understand why. The words on her screen does not make sense.But on November 29th, she receives a call from her grandmother who lives in Shieldaig, Scotland and whom she hasn’t seen for years. She suggests that Helena comes to stay with her in Shieldaig for a couple of days or a week.This is exactly the excuse she needs to close her laptop, pack her bags, and leave London. She goes to Shieldaig and reunites with her grandmother.In Shieldaig, it doesn’t take long before she steps into a book café that looks like something from a different time. In there, she meets a fairy-like woman with long red hair, and her very large dog......
Relationships: Christie Starling/Helena Frost
Comments: 140
Kudos: 44





	1. Christie 29th of November

29th of November, Shieldaig

Christie

My mornings started exactly like they always did. With a wet nose in my ear, and eager scratching against my arm. 

I smiled as I rolled onto my back, and even without opening my eyes, I knew that Tiny’s face was hovering merely inches from mine. I could hear him whine excitedly like he did every morning. His excitement was intoxicating. Made me eager to get out of bed. But I waited. Waited until my alarm went “beep, beep, beep” like it did every morning at six thirty. There. Now it was time to get out of bed. I opened my eyes and squinted slightly as I stared directly into Tiny’s face. 

“Good morning, you,” I said softly and pushed the weighted blanket aside. Then reached out so I could scratch behind his ear. “Are you hungry?”

Tiny whined his yes. He was always hungry. 

“Alright then,” I laughed as I slipped out of bed and wiggled my feet into the slippers that stood available on the floor. “Come on, you.”

Tiny followed me into the kitchen where I spent a few minutes on getting his food ready. He almost knocked the bowl over in his eagerness to eat when I put the bowl on the floor. I chuckled to myself and ran two fingers through my messy hair. I needed a shower. And I needed to change out of my pajamas. The material made my skin itch and feel uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have bought it. Even though it was on sale. I smiled as I watched Tiny eat his food with vigor. He was hungry. He always was in the morning. So was I. 

I put on the kettle to make myself a cup of tea and then I lifted the blinds to take a peek outside. The sky was freshly blue. Almost like someone had wiped it free of clouds sometimes during the night. I could already sense how cold today would be. Freezing. I was happy I would be spending most of it indoors. 

Tiny burped to indicate that he was done eating, and after having filled his water bowl, I let him outside for a quick sniff around while I made tea and toast. I wasn’t worried that he would ran away. He never did, so why start today? 

Sure enough, exactly when my two slices of toasts popped up in the toaster, he came back inside, and I closed the door behind him. “It’s cold outside today,” I told him.

He let out a short bark and sniffed eagerly. I had to push his nose away from the table while I was making breakfast. Toast wasn’t dog food even though Tiny seemed to think so. 

“I think we’re gonna be very busy today,” I told him as I settled down by the table.

He tilted his head. 

“Aye,” I continued. “We’ve got lots to do today. We’re getting new deliveries. Lots of new books to put on the shelves.”

Tiny didn’t seem very interested in that. He settled down by my feet with his head resting on his paws. I couldn’t blame him. Being stuck in the shop while I worked probably wasn’t all that fun. I took a sip of my tea and a bite of my toast and then made a face when realizing that I had just blended the two different flavors. I chewed and swallowed as fast as I could and then went over to the sink to pour myself a glass of water. The water helped a bit with taking away the ugly blend of tea and toast. I reminded myself that I wasn’t that much in a hurry. I had time to first eat my toast and then drink my tea. 

Or drink my tea and then eat my toast. That was probably how I would do it. The tea would get cold quickly, but the toast would stay lukewarm. And if it didn’t, I could pop it into the oven real quickly. 

That turned out to not be necessary though. I took my time to drink my tea whilst reading the newest edition of “The Happy News”. I smiled when I read that three new puppies had found a foster home. 

That was nice. And an elderly lady had been reunited with her childhood sweetheart. Imagine that. I tried to picture it, but I couldn’t quite tune in on how it had to feel, and I caught myself wondering how that lady had been capable of even recognizing her childhood sweetheart when so many years had passed. I made a few comments about it to Tiny, but he had nothing further to add to my musings. 

I ate my toast and rinsed my plate and cup in the sink. Commanded Tiny to stay put in the kitchen and not wander back to bed like he so often did in the morning, and then I headed upstairs to get to the bathroom. On my way there, I passed the picture on the bookcase, and I took a quick moment to “feel”. Was this a looking day, or was it a not-looking day? I could feel how my stomach dropped a little, and I quickly answered the question. Today was not a look day. But that was okay. There would be other days where I would be able to look at the picture. I was okay. 

I went into the bathroom where the clothes I had put out last night was waiting for me. Bright blue leggings and my favorite white, fluffy sweater. Snowflakes, I thought to myself as a ran my hand over the softness of the sweater. I wasn’t sure why, but this sweater had always reminded me of snowflakes. And the material was soft and comfortable and not scratchy at all.

I took off my pajamas, left them in the laundry basket and then stepped into the shower. The spray of lukewarm water hit me instantly, and I congratulated myself with getting the temperature just right. 

Not too cold, not too warm. Perfect. This was all I needed to wake me up. I snickered a little because I could hear Tiny scratch on the door to get in. He loved water. I told him that I would be right there, and the scratching stopped. I was willing to bet that he had settled down outside the door. He was waiting for me. He always did that. 

Soon I stepped out of the shower, wrenched the water out of my hair and left it to airdry while I toweled off and then got dressed for the day. My teeth were brushed, my hair was tugged back in a braid and then I was ready to go. Tiny greeted me by the door when I emerged. He clearly thought that I had been gone for fifteen years and not fifteen minutes. 

“Are you ready to go?” I asked him. 

He yelped. Clearly, he was. 

“Alright! Let’s get going then! Come on!”

He was beside himself with joy when I clipped the leash on him, and he managed to get me completely tangled up. I had to ask him to sit still while I put on my boots, parka, mittens and scarf. The forecast promised cold weather, and I hoped for a dash of snow. With December hastily approaching, it could be nice with a bit of snow. 

Tiny and I ventured outside in the brightness, and I quickly found out that the forecast had been right. It really was cold on this particular morning. 

“’Morning Chrissie!” Mr. Higgins greeted me when we crossed paths. 

“Good morning, Mr. Higgins,” I smiled and held Tiny back a little. He was always very enthusiastic in the morning. Mr. Higgins was a very nice chap. Even if he still didn’t understand that my name was  
Christie and not Chrissie.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Mr. Higgins said as he squinted up at the clear blue sky. 

“It sure is,” I agreed with him. “Have you got any letters for me?”

“No, not today.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said and tried not to sound too disappointed. I like letters. “I should get going. Bye!”

“Goodbye, Chrissie. Have a nice day.” 

“You too, Mr. Higgins.” I let Tiny drag me away from the postman, and I thought to myself that having a dog like Tiny always made sure you couldn’t stay and make small talk for too long. I chuckled  
slightly to myself. 

Tiny and I didn’t meet anyone else besides the early postman, and I felt relieved over that. Making small talk was not my favorite thing to do, and especially not in the morning. We were a little early, so I  
gave Tiny a bit of extra time to sniff around and do his usual morning business while I was freezing. I had forgotten my hat. My hair was wet, and I had forgotten my hat. I knew there was something, I just  
hadn’t been able to figure out what it was. I would have to try and remember the hat tomorrow. Maybe I could write a little reminder for myself or something. 

“Are you all done?” I asked Tiny when he trotted over to me. 

He tried to lick my mitten as an answer, and I chose to believe that was a yes. 

“Alright, good boy!” I praised. “Then we better get to it, huh?”

We continued our walk, and soon the little building came into view. The Storybook Nook. I smiled. Now it was time to open for the day.


	2. Helena 29th of November

29th of November, Chelsea, London 07:01 AM

Helena

My morning couldn’t possibly have started worse. I stared at the laptop screen. The laptop screen stared back at me. I tapped in a word and hoped for the best. Nothing happened. The single word looked odd and flat on screen. Just a word. Not the beginning of something magical. Just a single word that didn’t mean anything. 

I sighed deeply and reached for my cup of coffee. Took a deep gulp and nearly spat it out upon realizing that it was cold. “Bloody hell!” how could it had gone cold? Surely, I hadn’t been at it for that long, had I? 

Yes, I had. A quick glance at my watch told me that it was six thirty in the morning. Six thirty. I had been sitting here since four am. God! 

I stared at the laptop screen and acknowledged: “I’m bloody useless.” The laptop screen seemed to agree with me. The words should have been pouring out of me, and instead I had been sitting and staring at the laptop screen for an hour. I frustrated ran my fingers through my hair and then stretched my arms above my head in an attempt to make a knot soften in my back. That didn’t happen. Instead I accidentally managed to knock the coffee cup on to the floor. Coffee spilled onto the delicate hardwood floor, and I cursed as I got up from the chair and stomped into the kitchen to find the remedies to save the floor. At least the cup hadn’t shattered. I should be grateful for that. But it was hard to be grateful when nothing seemed to go my way. I felt a ridiculous urge to weep as I sat crouched on the floor and did my best to mop up the spilled coffee. It didn’t help a lot that Brad had called me last night to hear about my “progress”. I had been quite honest and told him that there hadn’t been any. He hadn’t been quite as understanding as he normally was. ‘I think it’s time for a friendly push, Helena.’ He’d said. ‘Your work is phenomenal, but we need something new, you know? It’s been two years since you last published, and your readers are wondering what happened to you. I know art can’t be rushed, but I’m afraid you’re running out of time.’

That last part had stung. And it had been exceptionally insensitive of him, considering how true that statement had been a few years back. I had actually been running out of time. 

I rose from my crouched position on the floor and went into the kitchen. I wrenched the spilled coffee into the sink and left the dishcloth there. I looked out of the window. Looked out at the busy street. 

As insensitive as Brad had been about it, he had also been right, though. I was running out of time. For the past two years I hadn’t written anything new. I didn’t feel anything when I sat down in front of the laptop. There was no prickling eagerness to write. No epic plot twists came to me anymore. And I certainly never stayed up late to either plot or finish one more chapter. Instead there was just... 

Nothing. Emptiness. And that scared me. If I couldn’t write... I wouldn’t ‘be’ anything. Wouldn’t be anyone. Writing was as much my identity as my name was. I had lived and breathed for writing for as long as I could remember, but since four years ago when my life had changed dramatically, the creative process had slowed down dramatically. True, I had published two books in that period, and they had received quite good reviews. Especially the last one. But I hadn’t been in any position to write something new after that. Two years without any new publications. I understood why my agent was disappointed in me. But he couldn’t possibly be more disappointed than I was. This was supposed to be the start of a new period in my life. A new start in the most literal of ways. And I couldn’t get anything to work. I couldn’t get myself to work. The things I had loved before suddenly didn’t mean anything. I felt... I felt changed. Which was ridiculous, because deep down I knew that I wasn’t. ‘The same old Helena’ as my mother put it. I didn’t feel like the same old Helena. I felt like a Helena who struggled to get through every day and had struggled for a while. 

I used a finger to wipe underneath my eyes and turned my back on the window to look around in the apartment. The early sunbeams highlighted the dust on my coffee table. When was the last time I had dusted this place? I couldn’t remember. I glanced around. Took in my spacious living room with the flatscreen and elegant brown Chesterfield couch. Normally, I quite liked my apartment. I liked my large living room and spacious kitchen. I liked my bathroom and the old, antique tub I had bought to celebrate the publication of my first novel. I liked living on the 25th floor and feel like I could see all of London. But as of late, the apartment had made me feel like I was boxed in. I had spent more and more time away from the apartment. On café’s drinking too expensive coffee that wasn’t good for me. 

Anything but sitting in front of my laptop and do what I was supposed to do. Write. 

I nearly jumped when my phone rang, and for a second, I was afraid that it was Brad again. But it wasn’t, and instead of cursing, I smiled as I picked up the phone with a: “Grandma.”

“Nena, dear,” my grandmother’s soft voice came in the other end. “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” I agreed with her. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy lately.” That was a lie. I hadn’t been busy at all. The only thing I had been “busy” with was catching up on watching Netflix. My knowledge on Downton Abby truly was impressive. And I felt like I slowly was turning into the ever dissatisfied Violet Crawley.

“My busy granddaughter,” my grandmother said softly. “How is the writing going, dear?” 

“It’s...” the word “fine” was already waiting on the tip of my tongue, but I knew she would look right through my “fine”. If there was one person I couldn’t lie to, it was my grandmother. “It’s not going very well,” I said quietly. “Actually, it’s not going at all. I can’t... The words still refuses to come.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Grandma said gently.

“I don’t know what to do,” I told her, and my voice threatened to break. “It’s like... I sit down to write, but there’s nothing. I don’t feel anything when I’m writing anymore. I just feel...empty.”

“Oh, Nena,” Grandma said. “My dear, I am so sorry!”

“I don’t feel any passion,” I said honestly. “Maybe... Maybe I should just stop all together. Perhaps I could do something different.”

“You don’t have to decide anything right now, Nena,” Grandma said patiently. “Why don’t you take some time to regroup and think about what you want?”

“I don’t do much else.” 

My grandmother chuckled slightly. “I meant that you should go away for a while. Leave London.”

“But where would I go?” I asked as I glanced out of the window again and looked at the fog. Leaving London was certainly tempting. 

“Well, you could come and visit your grandmother, for instance,” Granny said and chuckled again. 

“Hmm.” I considered that. I could do that. For a long time I had been feeling like I needed “fresh air”. I needed to escape London and my apartment and everything. If I really chose to visit my grandmother,   
I certainly would be a long way away from everything. 

“That’s what you should do,” my grandmother said firmly. “Allow yourself a breather and come and visit me. Stay for a month.”

“A month?” I repeated and shook my head even though she couldn’t see that. “No, grandma, I can’t possibly do that. Not a whole month, that’s impossible. I have so many things I need to do here.” such   
as writing the books I was supposed to have written a year ago.

“A week then,” she said. “I’ll clear the guest room, and I’ll pay for your plane ticket.”

“A week?” I laughed. “No, that won’t to either, grandma. A few days, alright? I know it’s not for long, but it’s the best I can do.”

“A few days,” she repeated. “And I’ll pay for your plane ticket.”

“No, grandma, you-“

“Nena. I’ll pay for your plane ticket,” she repeated. “Just give me a call when you’ve booked a ticket and I’ll transfer the money to you. I’m looking forward to seeing you. And I’m looking forward to   
introducing you to my friend Christie. Goodbye, dear. See you soon.”

“Grandma-“ I interrupted myself and laughed. She had already hung up. Of course she had. Typical grandma. But maybe she had just given me the best advice she possibly could. I should visit her. It had   
been ages since I last did that. And she was getting older. My time with her wasn’t unlimited. Asking her to come to London wouldn’t be fair of me. I put the phone down and walked back to my laptop. Saved the document and went online to look for plane tickets instead. Grandma was right, I needed this. I needed a change of scenery. Maybe the words would flow easier up there. 

In a matter of no time, I had booked a plane ticket. I would be leaving tomorrow. On the 30th of November. I smiled and the gesture felt so completely foreign. As did the excitement swirling through my body. For once, I felt like I had something to look forward to. For the first time in a very long time. Visiting my grandmother would be wonderful. And meeting grandma’s friend ‘Christie’ would be too. I chortled to myself. Since when did the prospect of being introduced to an elderly lady excite me so? 

Most likely since my own life had gone haywire.


	3. Christie 29th of November

29th of November, Shieldaig 06:50 AM

Christie

I have always loved my store. The room is warm even when it isn’t. The walls are painted deep red and the plushy chairs and round tables spread out everywhere always provides me with a sense of comfort. And even more so when the fireplace is lit. 

Lightening the fireplace was always the first thing I did when I arrived. It didn’t take long before Tiny settled down on the rug in front of the fireplace with a heavy sigh. He rested his head on his paws, and   
I thought to myself that he looked awfully comfortable. Definitely not like he wanted to run around outside. I smiled a little as I told him “good boy”. And lazy boy. I would let him out later. 

I shrugged off my coat, scarf and mittens and carefully followed my usual routine when I hung the coat on the rag along with the scarf. Then I stuffed the mittens into my pockets. One mitten in each pocket. That was what was the most practical. I had always wondered why everyone stuffed both their mittens into the same pocket. Wasn’t that awfully difficult? 

With that taken care of, and with Tiny installed in front of the fireplace, I moved to stand behind the counter. I checked my watch and waited. Five minutes. Then Mr. Olson would walk through the door and order his usual. One café latte and one slice of carrot pie. I brushed a hand over my white sweater and glanced out of the window. Today would most definitely be a snow day. I was excited about that. 

Tiny yawned from his spot in front of the fireplace, and I had to chuckle. Perhaps I should have brought his ball with me. So he didn’t get too lazy. Maybe he and I could play fetch later.

The door opened, and in came Mr. Olson. He was wearing his usual grey coat and checkered scarf, and it was impossible not to notice that he looked a bit sad. Maybe he’d had a bad morning. 

“Good morning, Christie,” he rumbled in his usual friendly manner as he came up to the counter. 

“Good morning, Mr. Olson,” I smiled and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. I should have made a bigger effort to tighten the braid at home. “What can I find for you this morning?”

“A café latte and a slice of carrot pie, I think,” he said. 

“I’ll find that for you,” I promised and studied his face. Dark circles underneath his grey eyes. A deep wrinkle between his eyes. But it wasn’t just that. His entire posture just radiated exhaustion. Poor soul.   
Today was most definitely not a good one. 

“And what can I find for you to read today?” I continued. 

“Something lighthearted, I think,” he said. “I need a break from the thrillers.” 

“Something lighthearted?” I repeated. Just to be sure I’d heard correctly. 

“Yes, please, Christie.” 

I flashed him a smile. “Of course. I believe I have just the book for you, Mr. Olson. If you just take a seat, I’ll be right there.”

He returned the smile and turned around. I didn’t have to watch to know that he first would crouch down to say good morning to Tiny and then sit down in his preferred chair right by the fireplace. 

I turned around and went into the backroom where I walked up the stairs to the upstairs department. I switched the lights on and smiled as I looked around at all the bookshelves. As much as I loved the café area downstairs, this place was what I loved the most. All the shelves. All the books. True, the shelves were a bit dusty, and some of the books needed to be re-organized, but still, all of this was mine. At least it had been for the past two years....

No. I sighed slightly. Shook my head firmly. I wouldn’t think of that today. Not now. Perhaps I could think about it a little tonight. If today was a “thinking”-day. But for right now, I was at work. I wanted to stay focused. I had a customer waiting for me downstairs. A customer who was waiting for me to come and help him make his day a little better. That was what mattered right now. I determinated walked over to one of the many shelves and plucked a book from it. I was sure Mr. Olson would find it to be interesting. 

With the book in hand I walked back downstairs. Mr. Olson was indeed sitting at his usual spot, and I smiled as I walked over to him. “Here we are, Mr. Olson. ‘Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand’ by Helen Simonson. It’s a story about a retired widower who lives in a small village in the English country side. He meets and falls in love with a Pakistani shopkeeper. It’s a later-in-life-romance, and I think it’ll be right up your street.”

He smiled as he took the book from me and turned it around so he could read the blurb. I saw him squint slightly behind his reading glasses. Then he looked up at me. “Thank you, Christie. I think I’ll enjoy this one.”

“I hope so, but if not, you just let me know and I’ll find you something else, okay? Your café latte and carrot pie will be right there.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” he beamed, and I smiled back at him. I knew that some people would have found that term to be offending, but you couldn’t when it was Mr. Olson who said it. I knew he didn’t mean anything bad. He just meant that I was a sweetheart. Plain and simple. 

I went back behind the counter and got the coffee machine going. While the coffee brewed, I prepared a slice of carrot pie. I had just told Tiny that he couldn’t have any when the door opened and my assistant, seventeen year old Vanessa stepped inside. 

“Good morning, Christie,” she smiled. 

“Good morning, Vanessa,” I said. “You’re early today.”

She shrugged. “Aye, I had nothing better to do.” Then she laughed in that matter that made me sure she was just joking. I laughed along with her and happily accepted her offer about being in charge of   
Mr. Olson’s café latte. I still wasn’t completely sure of how the advanced coffee machine worked. The book part was something I knew and understood, but as soon as things became just the littlest bit technical, I felt lost. I was grateful for having Vanessa here with me in the book café. Honestly, I didn’t know how I would have managed everything if it hadn’t been for her. 

Vanessa took over and I greeted Mrs. Griffith when she came in and ordered her usual. One hazelnut mocha and a slice of blueberry pie. And book number thirty six in the “The Legend of The Ice People” saga. She was quite passionate about that series, and I was already starting to wonder what on earth I should find for her when she was done with the series. Maybe some historical fiction. Yes. I could introduce her to Lucinda Riley’s “The Seven Sisters”-series. I had a feeling she’d love that. 

I went upstairs to find the book for her. I always knew exactly where the books were standing on the shelves. And I also knew that I would have to pass Taylor Jenkins-Reid’s “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo” in order to get there. I felt a twitch of pain in my heart when I glanced at the book. That had been her favorite book. I couldn’t count the times I had read aloud to her from it when things were tough. 

I took a deep breath, collected myself. Then I plucked the book out of the shelf and went downstairs again. Mr. Olson was engaged with eating pie and reading, and Mrs. Griffith had started her hazelnut mocha. 

“Here you go, Mrs. Griffith,” I said as I put the book down in front of her. 

“Oh, thank you, Christie,” she beamed, and her eyes shone. “I’ve been so looking forward to coming back and reading!”

“I’m happy to hear that. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No thank you, dear. I have everything I need,” she smiled. 

I returned the smile and then went back behind the counter. Mrs. Griffith and Mr. Olson. Two people. I really hoped that more customers would turn up. Lately there hadn’t been that many people coming   
here to read, and that worried me a little. I knew I had to boost the business somehow, but I wasn’t sure how. 

“Christie?” Vanessa asked. “Everything alright?”

“Aye, of course,” I assured and flashed her a brief smile. “Everything is fine.” I couldn’t tell her that I was worried about business. She loved coming here. I didn’t want to worry her. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course,” I said and suppressed the slight annoyance over being asked a second time. “Everything is fine.”

“Okay. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“No thank you. I had tea this morning. But make one for yourself,” I encouraged. “I’ll just pop upstairs for a few minutes, alright?”

“Okay.”

I went back upstairs. I really had to at least try to organize some of these books. As I crouched down to do the bottom shelves first, I tried to cheer myself up. This was a nice day. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and two people had already come in to read. More people would come. I was sure of that. Everything would be fine. But if everything was so fine, why did I feel so disheartened? Perhaps it was because December was approaching. Christmas. Another Christmas without her. 

I shook my head firmly. No, Starling, I scolded myself. If I started thinking about her, I surely would feel bad. And I didn’t want to feel bad. I wanted to be happy. Optimistic. I could do that. I continued the task of tidying the bottom shelf, and I smiled a little to myself when I heard the bell ring. Another customer. In a moment, Vanessa would call up the stairs to let me know which book to find. Three customers who had come for a slice of cake or a cup of coffee and a book. That was good. Very good. See, today would be a good day after all. I pushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. 

“Christie?” I heard Vanessa call to me. 

“Coming, Vanessa,” I called back and chuckled a little. I really shouldn’t have lost hope like that. Things had a way of working out in the end. At least when it came to customers. When it came to other things, then.... well... I tipped my chin up and tried to think of nothing as I passed “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo” again. Maybe it was time to remove the book from the store if I couldn’t bear having it here.


	4. Helena 29th of November

29th of November, Chelsea, London 07:30 PM

Helena

I didn’t write a single word for the rest of that day. Instead I busied myself with digging out my dusty blue suitcase and then rifling through my closet to find the clothes I was gonna bring with me. I tried my best to be excited about my upcoming trip to Scotland, but deep down I was depressed. And worried. Yes, sometimes a change of scenery helped struggling writers, but I was more than a struggling writer. I hadn’t published anything in two years. The daily questions about when the next book in the “Darkness”-series would be published, had turned into weekly questions instead. After a while it would become monthly questions. Then yearly. And then everyone would have forgotten about me. Perhaps I would be mentioned during dinner now and then. Do you remember that author? Helena Frost, the one who wrote those thriller books. I wonder what happened to her?

I wish I could say that there was a much more thrilling reason for my disappearance, but there wasn’t. There was only one reason: I couldn’t write anymore. And I hadn’t been able to for several years.   
It seemed like I slowly had lost everything over the cause of five years. First my good health. My strength. My motivation to write. My health and strength had been restored, but my motivation to write hadn’t. And then I had lost Sarah. About eight months after, and while I was still recovering, she had decided that she couldn’t do it anymore. There had been tears. Hers and mine. I had begged her to stay, to not leave me because I didn’t know how to do this without her, but she had still left. Had cast everything aside and swept six years of relationship under the carpet the moment she walked out of the door with her suitcase. A week later, her brother had arrived with a large truck so he could pick up the rest of her stuff. She hadn’t even been brave enough to face me herself. 

I sighed. I was being unreasonable. It hadn’t only been Sarah’s fault. I was responsible for it going awry too. I was the one who had been distant. Who had ‘changed’. Sarah had told me that my heart wasn’t in it longer. 

I stilled with a navy blue pantsuit in my hand. My heart. MY heart. I felt a bizarre urge to laugh and shook my head as I quickly stuffed the pantsuit away in my suitcase. My grandmother was right, I needed to get out of London. I had been here for too long. I needed change, craved it like I craved oxygen. Perhaps the Scottish highland air would do me some good. I glanced back at the living room where my computer was standing. Of course I would take it with me, but I wasn’t so sure I would open it. Perhaps I simply wouldn’t write the week I was in Scotland. No, instead I would read and go for long walks. Go to the local café and drink coffee. Eat the local bake goods. Make friends in the village. Talk to my grandmother and get the chance to reconnect with her. I felt guilty. I hadn’t been around much. She had called me every week, and I had barely spared her a second thought after we’ve said goodbye. Coming to think of it, I had been a horrible granddaughter. I forced another pair of slacks into the already overflowing suitcase and acknowledged that I hadn’t been acting like the good granddaughter I was supposed to be. I had been anything but. And I was sick and tired of it. I was sick of feeling like   
I was drowning. Sick of feeling like a victim. Like my world kept turning and turning while I remained like this. A frozen statue cooped up in my flat, hiding from the world. If I wanted things to change, I had to take the first step towards that change. That was what my doctor had said again and again. And now I was finally doing something. I was going to Scotland. I had made a quick decision, and I was going to stand by it. And believe that the trip to Scotland would be the breath of fresh air I needed. My doctor would be proud of me. 

My phone pinged somewhere in my pocket, and I didn’t have to check it in order to know that it most likely would be Anna. I had texted her about my spontaneous plans of going to Scotland earlier, and this was probably her response. She would applaud the decision, I knew that. She too had been worried about me. My lack of enthusiasm for anything. She wanted “Hellie” back. The real Hellie. The happy, outgoing, and bubbling Hellie. She wanted the person I once had been, back. I wanted that version of myself back as well. And now I was indeed trying to get her back. I didn’t think that one week in Scotland would be enough to bring “Hellie” back, but maybe I could find pieces of her. Tiny fragments of the woman I once had been. And if I found enough fragments, then maybe, just maybe I could put myself back together eventually. That was what I was hoping. 

I concluded my packing by cramming underwear in every shape and color into the trunk and then slamming the lid stuff. I really had to use force to zip it, and the trunk was bulging and looked like it could pop open at any moment, but I was still satisfied with my own effort. I was almost ready to go. Perhaps I was putting way too much hope into this trip to Scotland, but it had been a very long time since I last felt hopeful about anything, really, so for once I allowed the feeling to stay and grow. Perhaps I even smiled a little, and that felt so foreign I was sure I could feel my face creak around the edges. I was still able to smile.


	5. Christie 29th of November

29th of November, Shieldaig 07:50 AM

Christie

“Bye, Christie!” Vanessa called up the stairs, and I jumped a little at the sound. I had been getting lost in my own head for a moment. 

“Bye, Vanessa,” I called back down the stairs. “See you tomorrow.”

“Eight am sharp,” she chuckled, and I confirmed again, but I silently wondered about it. Eight am. Eight am sharp. Sharp. Why did you say, ‘eight am sharp’? Time wasn’t sharp. It didn’t make sense. 

Humans said silly things sometimes. I heard the door to the store open and close and knew that Vanessa had just left. I silently counted in my head, but I barely managed to count to ten before I heard the click-click-click sounds of Tiny walking around downstairs. Vanessa leaving the store always was his cue. He knew that when she left, it would also be time for him to go home. 

“I’ll be right there, boy,” I called softly, and I heard him click-click-click towards the stairs. If he could, he probably would have come upstairs to me. 

“Be right there,” I promised as I stood from the floor where I had been crouching down in front of one of the bottom shelves and tidying up. But as I walked towards the stairs, I could feel that I didn’t really want to go home. Which was strange because I thought that I was having a good day. I had been working. I had been tidying up and fitting the right book with the right customer. I had done a good job today. And yet that all too familiar ache was sitting right at the center of my belly Weighing me down like a stone. According to pretty much everyone, the pain I was feeling was known as “heartache”. 

Another silly term. Because this pain had absolutely nothing to do with my heart. It was always sitting at my stomach region. My heart wasn’t even involved. I brushed a hand over my forehead. The closer I got to the staircase, the more reluctant I felt about going home. I tried telling myself that it wouldn’t be so bad, but I didn’t succeed. At least until I remembered that I actually wasn’t going home. Not yet. 

I had made a promise to myself about checking in on Mollie before going home, so that was exactly what I was going to do. I felt much more enthusiastic as I walked back down the stairs. 

Tiny greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. Wagged his tail and tried to jump up. I laughed as I gently ordered him to “stay down, boy. We’re going to see Mollie. You like Mollie, don’t you?” 

He barked and barreled straight towards the door. Did a little tap-dance as he impatiently waited for me. 

I chuckled softly to myself as I put on my coat and scarf and mittens. Then I found his leash and clipped it onto his collar. Together we left the store and ventured out in the cold. It was still snowing. In fact it was coming down heavily now, and I wondered whether it would be necessary for me to shovel. I would have to wait and see until tomorrow. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as it looked right now. 

Tiny lead the way as we walked towards Mollie’s house. Now and then he stopped as though to check if I was still there. Which was kind of him, considering that I wasn’t there at all. My head was full of thoughts, and I struggled to figure out where it all came from. Today had been a good day, right? Was it because I hadn’t looked at the picture this morning? Was that the reason why I was suddenly feeling strange? Or maybe it was the book. Her book. The one she had loved so much. The one I had read to her so many times I’d almost memorized every single word written in it. There had been a point where 

I had been able to recite most of chapter one. She had liked that. Been impressed by it. She hadn’t found it weird. She had just smiled and told me how much she loved my curly brain. That had been one of her favorite part of me to compliment. My curly brain and my beautiful soul. Then came my eyes, my pointy ears, my button nose as she called it. Then my hands. The freckles on my fingers. The birthmark on my wrist. I missed her. I missed her special way of giving compliments. I missed seeing the depths in her chocolate brown eyes. I missed the way her smile started slowly and then blossomed like a flower. I missed her laugh and the way it reminded me of bells. I missed running my fingers through her coarse curls again and again and shamelessly using it as a way to stim. I missed dropping my head to her chest and listening to the sound of her heartbeat after a long day. I missed how the sound instantly calmed me down. I missed the way she put her arms around me in a way that was just tight enough for it to be comfortable. I missed the way her hands rubbed at my shoulders and applied just the right amount of pressure. I missed the way she smelled of wild flowers and how the smell immediately made me feel like I was home.

I missed her so much it made my chest burn. I missed her, and I didn’t want to be angry with her. But I was. I was angry at her for leaving me here alone. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

I made it to Mollie’s house, and the moment she opened the door for me, I felt something similar to relief. There she was. Standing on the porch in one of her pleated skirts and high neck blouses. Her usual flowery shawl draped over her narrow shoulders. Her white hair was rolled into a soft bun. Her thin fingers were playing with the long pearl necklace she always wore. Her brown eyes twinkled as she looked at me with her usual gentle attention. 

I smiled at her and she could immediately see that today was a hard one. She stepped aside, let me come into the hallway. I unclipped Tiny’s leash, and he happily trotted past Mollie and into the kitchen. 

“Christie, sweetheart,” Mollie said. Then she hugged me. And that was okay. Mollie always made sure to hug me really tight. She knew how to hug me in a way to make me feel comfortable. She was the only one who knew how to hug me. Except for her. I closed my eyes and allowed the scent of her to fill my nostrils and then my lungs. She let me do it. She knew that I needed to. Needed a moment to feel at home. Mollie smelled faintly of coffee with just a dash of vanilla and cream cheese. Good scents. Safe smells. I didn’t know what the cream cheese was about yet, but I did know one thing. If Mollie had had her usual cup of coffee with a sprinkle of vanilla, I knew that some things still were normal after all. Safe. I could speak my mind.

“I think I’m struggling today?” I said. It came out as a question because I genuinely didn’t feel sure. I felt a little detached today. Not entirely sure of how to feel. 

Mollie held me close for a full minute. Then she released me, smiled at me, and patted my cheek. “I’ve made pea soup with carrot cake for dessert.”

“With cream cheese frosting?”

“Why yes, exactly,” she beamed.

“I knew I could smell the cream cheese in your shawl.”

She chuckled, gave my hand a squeeze. “You should stay for dinner, Christie.”

“I’d like that,” I said and thought of the sandwich I had planned on eating for dinner. Pea soup and cake for dessert did sound more appealing. As did the thought of being in Mollie’s company for at least a few hours. I toed off my boots and ridded myself of my coat, scarf, and mittens.

“Come, come, it’s too cold to stand in the hallway,” she said, and her strong, bony hand clutched mine as she brought me into the kitchen. 

“Crivvens!” I blurted as I looked at the enormous carrot cake she had made. It was big, too big for just the two of us. I quickly calculated it in my mind. She had made that cake before she asked me to stay for dinner. The cake was most definitely too big for her to eat on her own. This was a bit unusual. “That’s...That’s a lot of cake, Mollie.”

“It is,” she chuckled. “But guess what?”

“What?” I said and reminded myself that it was an expression. She didn’t actually want me to guess. Sometimes I forgot that.

“My granddaughter is coming to visit me!” 

“Is she?” I said and immediately found a smile. I had heard much about Mollie’s granddaughter over the five years I had lived here. I knew that she lived in London. I knew that she wrote books, thrillers I believe. I couldn’t remember her name. I knew that Mollie most likely had told me at some point, but I wasn’t very good with names. But I did know that Mollie’s granddaughter never visited her. I had never met her, and I knew that she had blown off Mollie a few times at the very last minute. Mollie was good at coming up with excuses for her, but even though I had never met her, I wasn’t so sure I liked her. It wasn’t nice to cancel on your grandmother at the very last minute like she had done. 

Mollie, however, was excited about the upcoming visit and chitchatted, and I was careful to smile and look happy for her. I just hoped that the granddaughter would actually follow through and visit her grandmother this time.

“Now...” Mollie said and clapped her hands together. “Did you bring me the book?”

“Of course I did,” and smiled more genuinely as I wiggled a hand inside my book bag and found the book, she had asked me to bring. “The Butterfly Room” by Lucinda Riley. 

“Oh thank you, Christie, love,” she beamed as she took the book from me, brought to her nose, and inhaled deeply. “Nothing like the smell of a good book.”

I returned the smile she was flashing me over the book. This was one of the many reasons I liked her so much. She was a book sniffer like me. She didn’t see anything wrong with feeling the urge to sniff a book once in a while. 

“You’re welcome,” I said and lifted my shoulders once. My voice sounded a little monotone, but I knew that she knew that I meant it. I was glad I had brought her the book. I knew how much her knees could hurt when it was cold like it was today. 

Mollie talked about her granddaughter as she stirred the soup. I rummaged through the cupboards and found the plates and cups like I always did, and I let her chat on. This was exactly what I needed. I needed her to talk. To fill my brain with everyday information that would make me forget all the things I was feeling today. And she knew that. That was probably why she was chitchatting. Once the table had been set, she instructed me to sit down and make myself cozy. 

“I think you’d like a cup of tea before dinner, isn’t that right?” she asked. 

I nodded, tugged a lock of hair behind my ear. “That would be lovely. It’s so cold outside today.”

Mollie laughed. “I haven’t been outside today, but seeing your pink nose and cheeks convinces me that I shouldn’t bother, Christie, honey.”

I laughed too. Tiny came over and put his head on my knee. 

“And of course we’ll have to find something for Tiny to eat,” Mollie singsong’ed. “Something from the cupboard, isn’t that right, Tiny?”

Tiny’s ears perked up, and I chuckled softly. Both he and I knew what was hiding in one of Mollie’s cupboards. A stash of dog food for him. Mollie always kept dog food in her cupboard. And cat food. She couldn’t help but feeding the strays even though I had told her what a bad idea it was. 

It didn’t take long before she gave me a cup of tea, and as soon as the taste of raspberry prickled on my tongue, I felt the “something heavy” turn liquid in my stomach. I finally felt something that wasn’t grief.


	6. Helena 30th of November

30th of November, London 08:10 AM

Helena

Heathrow airport was a messy, overfilled place, and I was already starting to regret this as I found an empty bench and sat down. My luggage had been taken care of. I had used the online check-in. All I could do was wait. There was two hours until I could board the flight to Edinburgh. I was grateful that the flight to Scotland was not that long. Only an hour and twenty minutes. There was a rented car waiting for me in Edinburgh, and that was the most tiresome part of the journey. The four and a half hour long drive to Shieldaig where my grandmother lived. I already felt exhausted. But at the same time I was also eager. I wanted to get out of London as fast as possible. I was tired of waking up to the same grey walls. The same yelling from the street and the same shadows in the corners of my apartment. I needed a change of scenery. Fresh air. And what better air to breathe than Scottish highland air? I needed a few days where I kicked back and allowed my grandmother to pamper me in that same fashion she always did. I had informed Brad, my agent that I would be going away for a few days, and he had applauded that decision. Going to Scotland and getting new input was a great idea, he said. Maybe a thriller taking place in the Scottish highland during a storm? The highlands would be an excellent setting to write something with proper “creep-factor”. I had laughed and agreed with all while knowing that I wouldn’t be writing a word while I was in Scotland. And probably not afterwards either. My inspiration source, once overflowing with ideas felt permanently dead now, and I tipped my head back against the wall and considered what would have happened had I followed my friend Josie’s advice six years ago and followed her to Miami. Fearless Josie. She had craved more than the pulse of a big city, so off she went. Packed her things and disappeared to Miami. She had begged me to come along. I had refused, but maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe I should have gone with her. And maybe it wasn’t too late. Even though it was six years since she’d left, I still considered her to be my best friend. We skyped quite often, and she always made a point of attempting to “sell” Miami to me. The palm trees, she said. The beaches! With snow-white sand and crystal blue water! Very tempting indeed. As I rested my eyes, I entertained the thought for a moment. Suppose I just packed up my stuff and bought a one way plane ticket to Miami. Showed up at Josie’s place and went “here I am”. I imagined how she would hug me, say that I was never allowed to leave again. And I sure as hell wouldn’t. I’d stay. Sit on the beach and write every day. Let the palm trees and white sand and crystal blue water feed me the inspiration I so desperately needed. I would write terribly, gritty horror stories taking place in sunny Miami. I would impress the heck out of Brad. My next book would become a bestseller. One that everyone would talk about for years and years to come. 

Imagine that. 

Strictly speaking, I could do it if I wanted to. I had enough money to start a new life somewhere else if that was what I desired. It wasn’t like I would be missed enormously in London. My parents lived in Plymouth and had an amazing senior life with lots of friends and cruises to pretty much everywhere. It happened that they remembered they had a daughter, and then they’d call me and check in. But the calls would never last longer than twenty minutes. Me and my problems couldn’t consume their busy, busy lives. They certainly wouldn’t miss me if I decided to move to Miami. For a moment, my thoughts wandered to my ex, but then I shook my head and reminded myself that she and I had broken up over a year ago. She definitely wouldn’t miss me. I doubt she even thought of me. Like I was thinking of her. Shaking my head, I thought to myself: Helena Frost, you need to get a grip. I had to somehow haul myself up from this deep, dark pit I seemed to have fallen into two years ago. And I felt terrible about it. I had in the most literal way been given a second chance at everything, and here I was, wasting that chance on moping around, not writing and thinking too much of my ex-girlfriend instead of actually doing something with that second chance. It wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough. I had to be better than this. Starting today. 

I brushed a hand over my grey coat and stretched my legs slightly. I noted that there was a crease on my left trouser leg, and I cursed myself for not having ironed those trousers in god knows how long. 

Again, this wasn’t good enough. I would have to find the way back to the old Helena. The woman I used to be. The woman I desperately wanted to be again. She wasn’t gone. I refused to believe that. I didn’t want her to be gone. No, she had to be in there somewhere, just waiting for me to find her. 

Was I going to Scotland to find myself? Yes, possibly. Did it sound like a right cliché? Yes, absolutely. But I was out of suggestions. I clung to this trip like it was a lifeline, and I probably put way too much faith into it. That a few days in Scotland miraculously would change everything. A bit of highland air and I would be all better. I just... I just wanted to be happy again. I bit the inside of my cheek hard not to cry. I really couldn’t do that here. Not in the airport. It was only at home I allowed myself to weep once in a while. But not here. And not in Scotland either. I didn’t want to make gran concerned. There was no reason why she should know how bad things actually were. 

I opened my eyes and looked at the many people in front of me. A man in a trench coat and hat was running towards one of the gates. Poor chap. He was running late. I hoped he would be able to catch his flight no matter where he was going. Where WAS he going? Somewhere sunny, perhaps? For a moment I imagined myself changing my ticket to Miami or Australia or Africa or France or some other fancy destination. Imagine that. I took a breath and reminded myself to call Josie when I had found my feet in Scotland. We’d talk casually, and then she’d make a joke about me coming to Miami s she always did. But this time, I would take her word for it. Tell her how sick I was of everything related to London, and wouldn’t it be fantastic if I came to Miami? I could rent a place on the beach, and we could see each other every day in person instead of via Skype. She’d squeal and laugh and tell me what a great idea it was, and we would plan my imminent move to Miami. Once again, I pictured my life there. In a house on the beach. Close to my best friend. I’d walk the dog I would finally be allowed to own. Walk him on the beach every day, and just like that, he would take me to her. The woman I was supposed to be with. The woman who would make all the clouds disappear from the horizon and make me wonder how they had even been there in the first place. Hand in hand we would walk on the beach with my dog running ahead. She’d smile and kiss me every time she came home from work. She would ask me how my day had been, did I get any writing done? And I would answer yes, of course I did. Thanks to her, my muse, writing wasn’t a problem anymore. We would laugh together and I would make coffee to us. We would sit closely in the couch, watch some television together before I started dinner. Once we’d had dinner, we would put a leash on my dog and take him for a walk on the beach. 

A child screamed loudly next to me, and my fantasy was shattered. I rubbed my temple where I could feel a banger headache setting in. I had to stop day dreaming. Maybe if I stopped dreaming and actually made things happen instead, I wouldn’t be stuck in this deep, black pit. 

I lifted my chin determinately. I WAS making things happening! By going to Scotland, I was actually initiating some sort of change. That had to be the first step in the right direction. 

The child screamed again, and I watched as he ran away from his mother. The child was clearly very excited about going for what appeared to be his first flight, and I caught myself hoping that he wasn’t going to be on my flight. I wasn’t so sure my nerves would be able to take that. What I needed was a nice, peaceful flight with a bag of peanut available at all times while I watched crappy movies on the little screen. The ideal flight, and exactly how I hoped to spend it. In peace. Not with screaming children nearby. I silently prayed that things would turn out that way. I had deserved that after the sleepless night I had endured. I had tried to close my eyes two times, and both times I had ended up dreaming about that terrifying white light. 

I shivered as I sat there in my thick, grey coat. I never wanted to dream about that white light ever again. It frightened me even more than my state of mind did. I just wanted to get over this. All of it. 

Would I find some peace in Scotland? Maybe. I would certainly do my utmost. I would really try. And I would be a far better granddaughter than I had been so far. I felt a stab of guilt. Everything would have to get better when I came to Scotland. Everything.


	7. Christie 30th of November

30th of November, Shieldaig 06:15 AM

Christie

The following morning started exactly like the previous one. With a wet nose in my ear and eager sniffing against my cheek. But on this morning, I patted the bed once to signalize to Tiny that I wanted him to come up. It didn’t take long before I felt the bed dip and creak as he jumped up. I felt him scrape on the covers, and I lifted them slightly so he could wiggle in. There wasn’t exactly much room in the bed now, but I didn’t care. Nor could I bring myself to care about the dog hairs either. I hugged him tighter into me so I could press my cheek against his broad shoulder. “I think I’m struggling today, Tiny,” I murmured. I wasn’t sure, but it felt like it. It was a bit too early for me to be able to feel anything. 

Tiny’s reaction was one that immediately made me feel a little bit better. He sighed deeply and gave the back of my neck a throughout sniff-through.

I chuckled into his broad shoulder and reminded: “no licking.” Having the back of my neck licked by him always made my skin crawl. 

Tiny kept sniffing and sniffing and once done with the back of my neck, he continued onwards with my hair. Normally, that would have send shivers down my spine as well, but today I allowed it. I needed the closeness. I needed the comfort from him.

“I miss her today,” I told Tiny as he kept sniffing my hair. He made a slight belly-rumble in response, and I propped myself up on one elbow. We were almost snout-to-nose now. Tiny blinked once, and I looked into his blue eyes. “Do you miss her too?” I asked and leaned forward a little so I could brush the tip of my nose against his wet snout. “Can you even remember her?”

Tiny’s nostrils vibrated and his pink tongue came out to lick at his snout. If I hadn’t moved my head a few seconds ago, my nose would have been licked too. 

“Can you remember her?” I asked him again and immediately felt a bit silly. Of course he could. Tiny was a smart boy. He remembered her. As clearly as I did. I wormed my way closer on my belly and lifted my head so I could press my cheek to his. “I don’t think I’m feeling so good today, Tiny.”

Tiny whined. He recognized my need for comfort, and his reaction was familiar too. A big paw landed on my shoulder. Applying pressure and weighting me down comfortably. That did feel good, but I needed a bit more on this particular morning. I gently wiggled out under his paw and laid down on my belly. Before burying my head in the pillow, I tapped his big paw twice and murmured a soft: “on me.” then I buried my face in the pillow, and immediately after that, I felt the bedsprings creak as Tiny adjusted. His heavy body covered the middle of my back. I was lying in a vertical position on the bed while he was lying in a horizontal position on top of me. He was heavy as he pressed me into the mattress, but sometimes it was the only thing that worked. Deep pressure. I didn’t think of this as him weighting me down. No, he was grounding me. Keeping me in a safe place while I thought about the things that made me upset. For the past two years it had been nothing but her. She was all I saw, all I felt, all I could smell. Her beautiful smile. The way her dark eyes sparkled. The way her skin felt under my fingertips. The way it had just the right silky-soft texture. The way she always smelled very faintly of chocolate. Dark chocolate with just a hint of coffee. My two favorite scents. Not too strongly of course. She had known that I didn’t like overpowering scents or smells. Her scent had been sort of quiet.   
Lingering very faintly right at the back of my nose. It had been perfect. Smelling her skin like she always let me had been the perfect cure for a hard day. Now I didn’t have a cure anymore. I would never smell coffee and chocolate again. I would never get to stim by running my fingers through her curls. Nor would I ever be allowed to hear her laugh again. See her smile. 

Realizing that my breathing had sped up and my throat had started to feel tight, I did the only thing I could do in this situation. “She knew she was loved. She knew that she had changed my life, that she had changed the world.” I murmured to myself, quoting a sentence I had to her a million times. But it wouldn’t be enough for today. I needed more. “It’s you and me. That’s all I need. You and me. If you’re here with me, I can do anything. For you, I can do anything.” That wasn’t a quote. That was something she always said to me. What we always said to each other. ‘You and me?’ I’d ask, and she would smile and reply: ‘yes, you and me, Christie. Always you and me.’ and whenever she said that, everything was alright in the world. 

My breathing had started to slow down some. If I tried hard enough, if I really concentrated, I could imagine that she was sitting next to me in the bed. Running her fingers through my hair as I read the words to her. She always loved hearing me read to her. “All a marriage is, is a promise. I’m talking about a spiritual promise, between the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” In my head, I could hear sniffle softly at that part. She always did whenever I reached that part. “When Celia didn’t say anything, I knew that she was thinking about it. She was thinking about whether it could mean anything, the two of us there in that bed. “Here’s what we’ll do,” I said, trying to convince her. “We will look each other in the eye, and we will hold hands, and we will say what’s in our hearts, and we will promise to be there for each other. We don’t need any government documents or religious approval. We don’t need anybody else’s rules. We just need each other.” Finally, it felt like my throat opened up and my lungs unfolded again. I could breathe. Reciting bits and pieces of ‘The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo’ always helped. Because when I read to her, it felt like she was here with me. My Evelyn. Which was all wrong, because really, she was Celia. The one who had left. And I was Evelyn. The one who had been forced to stay behind. Without her. I felt so utterly lost today. I couldn’t feel her anymore. During the past two years I had felt her less and less. Her clothes in the closet didn’t hold that special coffee-chocolate scent any longer. It didn’t matter how much and how long I buried my nose in it and tried to breathe in her scent. All I could smell was clothes that hadn’t been worn for a long, long time. It wasn’t a very nice smell, but I couldn’t remove her clothes from the closet to wash it. No, it had to be in the closet. Everything would be all wrong if her clothes weren’t in the closet. 

I took a deep, steadying breath and remembered what Mollie had said to me yesterday: “chin up, sweet girl. After every storm comes a rainbow.”. But while I did understand what Mollie meant by it, I also knew that I’d already had my rainbow. My rainbow had been her. Now she was gone, and there were no such thing as second rainbows. I took another deep breath and lifted my head from the pillow. Tried to look back as best I could. Tiny was still on top of me, weighing me down like he was supposed to so I could process all the things I was feeling. I tested myself but breathing in and then out. How did I feel now? Did I need any more time? No. I glanced at my alarm clock, noted that it was getting late, and then I quickly went through my morning routine. Brush my teeth to be rid of the awful stank coming from my mouth. Feed Tiny. Let Tiny out so he could relieve himself. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Toast and jam. A cup of tea. Brush my teeth again. Then out of the door. 

I tapped Tiny’s paw. “Off.”

He immediately followed the command and moved away from me. Jumped off the bed and proceeded to stretch while yawning squeakily. 

“Are you hungry, boy?” I asked as I stood from the bed and slipped my feet into those cozy, fuzzy slippers I loved the feeling of against my bare feet. 

He yawned squeakily again and wagged his tail eagerly. Yes, he was hungry.

“I know,” I said as I bent slightly to be at eye level with him. “I’m sorry for the slow morning, buddy. Thank you for helping me out.”

In response, Tiny licked my cheek and tried to push his wet nose into my ear. 

I laughed and quickly rose to my full height, narrowly avoiding his wet nose. “No-no. None of that now. Come on.” 

Together we left the bedroom and Tiny sat patiently outside the bathroom door while I brushed my teeth thoroughly and then flossed, careful to really get in between the teeth. When I was done, I smiled tentatively at my reflection. My white teeth met my eyes in the mirror, and the fresh mint taste filling my mouth immediately made everything feel a little better. I felt a bit more ready for the day. I doubted that I would catch any rainbows today, but still, I had to get out of the house. I had my weeks, months of isolation two years ago. I couldn’t let myself slip back to that point in time where Tiny was the only thing keeping me alive. I had to be better than that. Lifting my chin, I brushed the tangles out of my hair and then tied it back into a braid. Now it was time to feed Tiny. Time to feed myself so I could get to “The Storybook Nook” where customers would come for their slice of pie and another chapter in a book. I wasn’t done sorting out those shelves. And I had actually been looking forward to doing that.

I left the bathroom and went downstairs with Tiny trailing behind me. I fed him, and as he ate his breakfast, I went into the living room and pulled the curtain back. The loch met my eyes, and I opened the window. A cold winter breeze flurried in and made goosebumps pebble on my skin. I had a feeling it would snow again today. I left the window open as I went into the kitchen and pulled the curtain away from the window there as well. The mountains greeted me as they did every morning, and I opened the window, poked my head out and breathed in the cold winter air. I felt so lucky living here. If it hadn’t been for her, I would still be living in a small flat in Edinburgh with noise around me instead of living the life I was supposed to live here. In a small village surrounded by the loch and mountains. 

She was the one who had brought me here. The one who had saved me from the noise around me. That I couldn’t share this quiet life with her anymore, that she had to leave before me felt like a horrible, cruel joke. 

No. I didn’t want to think any more about her today. I had to banish her from my thoughts. Which sounded terrible, but I had a morning routine, and I couldn’t break that. If I did, everything would fall apart, and I couldn’t risk that. I moved my head away from the open window and walked back to the kitchen to let Tiny out. Now it was time to get a move on. I had things to do.


	8. Helena 30th of November

30th of November, Edinburgh 09:43 AM

Helena

By the time I could finally get out of the plane and into Edinburgh airport, I had no problem with remembering why I didn’t like flying. Or just travelling in general. There had been a child sitting in the seat behind me, and he had spent most of the flight kicking my seat. My patience had worn thin and I had turned around and asked him to stop. I may have been harsh because his chin had started wobbling and his parents had glared at me like I was some kind of monster. I wasn’t. I just wanted to sit in peace without having my seat kicked. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

I straightened the lapel on my coat as I looked around after my suitcase. Why was travelling so stressful? Had my various trips when I was younger been this stressful? They most likely had. I was just repressing it. And glamorizing it because I had been young and longed for adventures. Today the adventures were in short supply in my life. Not that I needed any adventures. At least not the kind of ‘adventure’ my life had been for the past five years. But now I was here. In Scotland. I was here to relax. To visit my grandmother. And by the time I returned to London I would have everything figured out. 

My writing. My life. That’s why people went away, right? To regroup and figure everything out. I could do that too. After two years in limbo, it felt like it was high time that I finally took control over my life and made a plan for the future. Perhaps I could find something else to live in for a start. I could trade the penthouse apartment in Chelsea for something different. Perhaps a cottage. In Cornwall. Or Devon. A fresh start where I could regroup and find my feet again. But many things had been different back then. I had been different back then. Full of hope and optimism about the second chance I had been given. So far, I had done nothing but wasting that second chance, and I had come to resent myself for it. I decided that my two year long “slumber” would end right now. On this day. From now on, I would participate in everything. Embrace everything. Seek out the company of others. Laugh hard. Greet the new day with a thankful heart. Exactly like Ebenezer Scrooge. But the difference between me and Scrooge was that I didn’t need three ghosts to tell me that. I just needed to pull myself together. Which I would do. Starting today. 

I saw my suitcase coming rolling towards me, and I was quick to reach out and grab it. With a hard grip on my suitcase, I left the airport and stepped out in the cold, crispy air on the parking lot. Edinburgh seemed so much colder than London had been, and despite my thick coat and woolen scarf I shivered. 

“Helena Frost?”

I turned my head and spotted a man standing next to a grey station car. As soon as he could see that he had my attention, he smiled. “Hello! I’m Parker Williams from Free Wheeling. Are you Helena Frost who called us yesterday and wanted to rent a car?”

“Yes, that would be me,” I confirmed and smiled at the man. My facial muscles seemed to crackle slightly, and I inadvertently cringed. Had it really been that long since I last smiled? 

“Well, she’s all yours,” Parker Williams smiled, gesturing towards the car behind him. “If you just sign here-“ he conjured a sheet of paper and pen. “You’re ready to go.” 

“Thank you.” I quickly put my signature on the sheet of paper and confirmed that I would only need the car for a couple of days. 

“Welcome to Scotland, miss Frost,” he said, smiling as he took the sheet of paper from me. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” 

“Thank you.” I hoped the same. 

Parker Williams crossed the parking lot and it didn’t take long before I saw him disappear into another car waiting for him. Now I was alone on the parking lot. Alone with my brand-new, rented car. I opened the door to the backseat and maneuvered my suitcase in. Then I climbed onto the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. Now I had a four hour long drive waiting ahead of me. I suppose I could have booked a hotel room in Edinburgh and taken a night to rest. But I didn’t want to waste any time. I was here to visit my grandmother. Not sit in a hotel room in Edinburgh. I adjusted the rear-view mirror and pulled out of the parking lot. Next stop, Shieldaig. I had already decided that I didn’t want to take any breaks on the way. I just wanted to reach my destination. I switched on the radio and ended up listening to some jolly Christmas tune. How could it already be December 1st tomorrow? It didn’t make sense. What had I even been DOING for the past year? 

Watching series. Stayed up until four in the morning to watch a re-run of some show I had already watched twice. Consumed bags of crisps and claimed it to be breakfast/lunch/dinner all in one. In other words, I had been slacking. I had been wasting another year on absolutely nothing. I felt guilty for a moment before remembering that that was ending today. Today was the first day of my new life. Now was the time to look ahead and be excited about the future. I couldn’t keep looking back. I had already been doing that far too much for the past two years. It had to stop.   
I turned up the volume and surprised myself by loudly singing along to the Christmas tune. Christmas this year would be wonderful, I decided. It would be full of laughter and hope and childlike wonder. 

Not at all like the other two Christmases laying behind me. Well, the first one didn’t really count. I had been unconscious. Deeply asleep and unknowing of my parents and Sarah’s presence at my bedside. 

But the second one. Oh, the second one. The second one had taken place at my parents’ home. And I had been depressed. I had cried at dinner. I had cried while receiving my presents. But it hadn’t been happy tears, not at all. The doctors and psychiatrists had explained that tears would come easy to me because I was so fragile. But to me, it had been more than just fragility. I couldn’t explain why I had cried or why the overwhelming feeling of loss had surrounded me. 

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Look ahead, Helena. Don’t look back. That’s all behind you now. I had no reason to think back to that god awful Christmas, but to this day I still couldn’t explain why it felt like I was missing something vital when it really was the exact opposite thing that had happened to me. I had been given something. Not lost anything. 

“Come on, Nena,” I murmured to myself. “Think of what your psychiatrist always say. ‘You’ve been given this second chance for a reason.’ Meaning, don’t blow it. And I wasn’t gonna. This was the start of the new Helena. The happy Helena. The Helena who wrote books like she used to. The Helena who laughed without straining. Who smiled easily. Who saw her friends regularly. Who had plans for the future. Plans that didn’t involve eating bags of crisps and watching too much Netflix. I squared my shoulders and set my jaw. I’d been living like a teenager for the past three years, and it was unacceptable. I was a full grown woman. The teenage years were long, long gone. I was too old to act like a little fool. I turned up the volume on Last Christmas and did my best to outsing George Michael. 

The other Christmases were long gone, only a faint memory. This Christmas would be my first Christmas as “the new Helena”. The second chance I should have grasped three years ago. Well, I was ready now. Ready to start living again instead of merely existing. I stopped so two pedestrians could cross the street, and one of them took his time to wave and smile at me. I eagerly returned the gesture. This was the first step. Show kindness to a stranger. That was a good thing. Once the pedestrians had crossed the street, I resumed my drive. It would be a good while before I arrived in Shieldaig, but that was okay. A long drive was exactly what I needed. Time to reflect. I hadn’t allowed myself to do much of that for the past two years either. I had been too busy wallowing in.... god, I don’t even know what I had been wallowing in. Self-pity? Self-hate? Anger at the universe for disrupting my once so perfect life? Anger at myself for being weak and fragile like every human was? But that was over now. Completely and utterly over. Despite the cold I rolled the window down. Breathed in the fresh air. The air was so clear here. Perhaps it would even be enough to finally clear my head...


	9. Christie 30th of November

30th of November, Shieldaig 07:00 AM

Christie

Things got better when I arrived at the store with Tiny. Just coming inside and breathing in the smell of coffee and pie mixing with the books upstairs. The smell was safe. Comforting. Home. 

I let Tiny off his leash so he could trot inside the café. He immediately found his preferred spot in front of the fireplace and curled up. 

“There’s a good boy,” I said softly and smiled as his ears perked up when he heard my voice. My good boy. I wasn’t sure where I would be today if it hadn’t been for him. He truly was my savior.

I shrugged off my coat and scarf and tugged off the mittens. Ran a finger through my hair. Brushed a hand over the green sweater dress I was wearing. It was very cold today too. It was already snowing, and I was relieved that Tiny wouldn’t need any more walking until tonight. He looked mighty cozy there on the floor in front of the fireplace, and I smiled. Such a good boy he was.

I flipped the sign over from “closed” to “open”, and then I walked over to the record player. Found a vinyl with Bing Crosby and put it on. I fixed the needle and waited, and after a moment, “Silent Night” crackled through the room. I tried to hum along and find the right Christmas spirit, but I had to admit that I was struggling. I didn’t feel very Christmas-y. Especially not after the surprisingly tough morning I had just experienced. But that was all over now. I was determined to make this a normal day like any other. I was tired of experiencing bad days. 

The bell above the door chimed, and I turned my head just in time to see Mollie step in. 

“Good morning, Mollie,” I said and smiled quickly. 

“Good morning, Christie,” she beamed. 

“You’ve finished the book already?” I asked somewhat confused. I knew that Mollie was a fast reader, but not quite this fast.

“Oh no,” she chuckled. “But my granddaughter is on her way from Edinburgh and I’m not very good at waiting at home, so I figured I would stop by for a cup of coffee here.”

“Right. Of course,” I replied and put on a smile. But I was confused. Why not just make a cup of coffee at home? This didn’t make sense to me. But I knew better than to tell her that. I encouraged her to sit down and make herself at home, because that is what you’re supposed to say. Then I turned my attention to the espresso machine behind me. I knew that Mollie liked espresso, but I wasn’t very good at making them. I had tried. Many times. But I still managed to get it wrong. 

“Regular coffee is fine, dear,” Mollie said softly. 

“Perfect!” I said a little too enthusiastically. Regular coffee was something I could make. And I was good at it. Really good. I got the coffee machine going and while the coffee brewed, I busied myself with wiping the counter. 

“Is Vanessa not here today?” Mollie asked. 

“No, she’s sick,” I said shortly. 

“Oh, that poor dear,” Mollie said sympathetically. “Must be one of those blastered colds going around.”

“Yes, that’s probably it,” I said and felt bad when I realized that I hadn’t asked her about that. I hadn’t asked what was making her feel ill. I had just texted ‘okay’ in return, and hearing Mollie’s concern for Vanessa’s wellbeing made me realize that I should have written something sympathizing and not just okay. I sighed quietly to myself. Once again, I had missed a social cue. Once again, I had forgotten to express sympathy when I should have. I blamed it on the hard morning I had. My ability to grasp social cues always worsened when I had been thinking about her. One of the many reasons why I had to stop. Not completely of course. But just not think about her so often. I couldn’t let this affect my already poor social skills. That wasn’t okay. The coffee machine made a clicking sound and I turned around, startled by the sound. I had been getting lost in my own head. Again. That happened way too often too. Probably because I didn’t have anyone to bring me back anymore. No. I squared my shoulders. I had to stop this right now. Wallowing in self-pity was not okay when I was at work. 

I found one of the sky blue cups in cupboard, and I couldn’t help but smile when I looked at the color. The blue cups always did made me feel happy. I poured coffee into the blue cup and then added a dash of cream. Exactly how Mollie liked it. I watched in fascination as the cream colored the dark beverage light. It was like watching clouds disappear on a windy day. 

“Here you go, Mollie,” I said as I brought the cup of coffee down to her. she had found her book in her purse. 

“Thank you, my star,” she smiled as she brought the cup of to her lips and took a small sip. “Mmm. Very good.” 

I hovered by the table. She hadn’t started reading the book, and I took that as a hint that she wanted to keep talking. “So, are you looking forward to seeing your granddaughter again? It’s been a long time since she last was here.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. Another social cue missed. Mollie frowned for the briefest second before her forehead smoothened out and she smiled. “Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing her very much, dear. She’s been going through a rough patch lately.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, congratulating myself with at least getting that right. Expressing sympathy when hearing that someone was struggling was the right thing to do.

“I hope that the time she spends here will make her feel better,” Mollie said and took another sip of her coffee. 

“I’m sure it will,” I said automatically, but still wondered deep down. How could going somewhere help if you were struggling? The same problems would still be there when you returned home, wouldn’t they? I didn’t understand that either. 

“And how are you doing, dear?”

“I’m okay,” I said quickly.

Tiny chose this exact moment to yawn squeakily from his spot in front of the fireplace. Almost like he was trying to imply that I was lying. Which I was, but that wasn’t Tiny’s business. 

“Are you quite sure, my dear?” Mollie continued, raising her eyebrows in something I quickly identified as doubt. 

“I’m sure, Mollie,” I said and tried my best to muster something meant to be a reassuring smile. I don’t think she bought it, because even though she smiled, her eyebrows remained raised. Which looked a bit odd to be perfectly honest. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” I asked to change the subject. 

“Oh yes, it’s a very good one,” she replied, smile turning more real now. “I think it’s the best one so far.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” I said and suffocated a chuckle. That’s what she had said about all the others too. “You’re welcome to stay and read until your granddaughter comes.”

“Thank you, Christie. I cannot wait to show her this place! She loves books as much as you do.”

“That sounds nice,” I said and tried not to wrinkle my nose. I wasn’t too keen on a stranger coming into my little safe haven. I had my little circle of regular customers and that was fine. I knew all of them. But Mollie’s granddaughter was a stranger. And I rarely knew how to behave when I was with strangers. That tended to make me very anxious and awkward. 

The bell above the door chimed again, and Mr. Jensen came inside. His white cane clicked against the floor and he stopped for a moment to orientate himself. 

In this particular situation, I knew exactly what to do. “Tiny,” I called softly. “Go to Mr. Jensen.”

Tiny immediately unfolded himself from his sleeping position and trotted over to Mr. Jensen. Mr. Jensen outstretched his hand and Tiny gave it a lick to let him know that he was there. 

“Stand left,” I gently commanded, and Tiny responded by moving to Mr. Jensen’s left side. 

Mr. Jensen put his left hand on Tiny’s neck while holding onto his white cane with his right hand. 

“To table,” I continued and smiled proudly when Tiny slowly ‘escorted’ Mr. Jensen to a table at the center of the room. Tiny stopped and scraped the chair once to let Mr. Jensen know where it was. 

“Good boy,” I praised as Mr. Jensen sat down. “Good morning, Mr. Jensen.”

“Good morning, Christie,” he greeted with a smile. “I think that dog of yours is getting smarter and smarter.”

“Yes, isn’t he,” I said proudly. “And what can I find for you today?”

“A cup of tea, please. And Mice and Men.”

“Coming right up,” I said cheerfully.

First, I put on the kettle and while the water boiled, I went upstairs towards the shelf where we had the books that were in braille writing. Downstairs, I could hear Mollie and Mr. Jensen chitchat, and I smiled to myself. Maybe my morning had been tough, but I had a feeling that the rest of the day would turn out to be just fine. Quiet and calm. Exactly how I liked it.


	10. Helena 30th of November

30th of November, Shieldaig 02:04 PM

Helena

At long last I could park the car in front of my grandmother’s little white cottage. It was a beautiful place. Water and mountains. Even the air felt clearer, and I took a deep breath as I got out of the car. 

Perhaps this truly was the place where I could finally recover. One could only hope. 

I opened the trunk and grabbed my suitcase. I hauled it out of the car and slammed the trunk shut again. The snow was falling steadily now, and I flipped the collar on my coat up to shield myself from the cold. I steered towards my grandmother’s cozy little cottage, but I had barely taken five steps before my foot slipped on a patch of ice hidden underneath the blanket of snow. Down I went like a sack of potatoes. I landed on my butt, and my initial reaction was to look around to check if anyone had seen my blunder. Thankfully, I couldn’t see anyone nearby. 

“Great,” I muttered to myself as I got on my feet again. My jaw clenched as I brushed the back of my coat. “This starts out fantastic.” As stupid as it sounded, this had made me feel a little bit discouraged already. Falling over being the first thing I did when arriving seemed like a bad start. Oh well. At least no one had seen it. That was a relief. 

I made it safely to my grandmother’s home and was about to knock on the door when I saw a note that had been attached to the door with tape. I squinted slightly to read my grandmother’s complicated handwriting. “Come and find me at the Storybook Nook” 

I didn’t know what the “Storybook Nook” was, and for a second, I felt annoyed at my grandmother because she wasn’t home when I arrived. I wasn’t in the mood to wander the streets to find her. But it would appear that I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. I couldn’t wait keep standing here and wait until she came back. The weather was bloody freezing!

Sighing a bit to myself, I turned back around. Walked back to the car and stuffed my suitcase back in the trunk. Driving to wherever this “Storybook Nook” was, was not something I was particularly interested in. The snow was coming down hard. Driving could be dangerous in this weather. Ergo, I would have to walk. And pray that it wasn’t too far away. 

I began my walk, and fortunately it didn’t take long before I crossed paths with an elderly man in a thick coat and knitted hat. “Excuse me?” I said. “I’m looking for the Storybrook Nook?”

He lifted a long and slightly crooked finger. “Just a bit further down the road, lass. Big sign out front. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you so much.” I had expected to smile and continue my walk, but he lingered.

“Are you Mollie’s granddaughter?” he asked and smiled at me. 

“I am,” I confirmed and smiled back to her. “Helena Frost.”

“Aye, I know. Mollie talks so much of ye.” He stuck his hand out. “Alan Morris. Pleasure to meet you, miss Frost.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Morris,” I said politely as I shook hands with him. 

“Welcome to Shieldaig,” he said, holding onto my hand for longer than what was strictly necessary. “You’re going to love it here!”

“Yes, I’m sure I will,” I agreed as I gently wiggled my hand out of his grasp. I neglected to tell him that I wasn’t here to stay. This was just a short visit. Five days at most. Then I had to get home. And write, hopefully. Yes. This was my recreative trip. My chance of fresh air. And when I got back to London, I would have a sensible plan for the future. Or so I hoped. I parted ways with Mr. Morris and continued my walk down the street. I tugged at the collar of my coat. Pulled my scarf up to cover my mouth and nose and wished that I had been clever enough to wear a hat. Or gloves. My fingers were already turning slightly blue. I hoped my grandmother was going to make tea when we got back to her place. A vibrating sound from the depths of my coat pocket interrupted my train of thoughts, and I was willing to bet everything I owned that it was my agent again. I had been avoiding his calls for a few days. Childish, perhaps, but I felt like he had really crossed a line the last time we spoke, and I was eager to get that message across. That he really had hurt me. He knew how much I was struggling, and I refused to let myself get bashed on because of that. I was the one who had written The Darkness-trilogy. 

I was the author behind three very successful books, and I refused to let myself be dictated by my agent. Perhaps I was growing defiant, but I didn’t need this in my life right now. I didn’t need Brad to breathe down my neck while I was trying to find myself. I had neglected myself for too long. I deserved a break. I took a breath. Just thinking about writing made me feel frustrated. Perhaps I just wouldn’t touch my computer while I was here. I was on holiday, after all. I should use that time to relax. And find myself. It was even was something one could do. 

‘Big sign out front, can’t miss it’, Mr. Morris had said. And he certainly was right. When I made it a bit further down the road, an enormous eyesore of a sign greeted me. “THE STORYBOOK NOOK” was scrawled across it in large block letters, and the sign furthermore informed me that the place offered cake and beverage. Hmm. I frowned softly. Wasn’t this a bookstore? The name certainly suggested so. 

But what kind of bookstore offered cake and beverage too? That was strange. I wanted to solve this little mystery. And find my grandmother. I opened the door and went inside. And nearly tripped over the shoes that had been lined up right by the door. Befuddled, I regained balance and looked at the shoes. Several pairs. Different size. Okay. That was a bit strange. The plot was thickening. I elegantly strode over the line of shoes and went through a door and into a circular room. I had to stop right by the threshold and look around in surprise. It was like stepping into a different time zone. A completely different ERA. The floor was covered by a thick, wine red rug. The wall was covered by a grey wallpaper with trees to give the illusion that we were in the middle of a forest. There were dark leather chairs which stuffy pillows held in warm colors and little round wooden tables with red and white checkered table cloths scattered across the room. A fire was flickering merrily in the open fireplace, Billie Holliday’s smooth voice was seeping out of from an old record player with funnel in the corner of the room. The cash register on the old wooden desk looked like something straight out of the fifties. 

There was no electric light in here either. Instead there were candles on the table and a big chandelier with even more flickering candles was dangling from the ceiling. My gaze landed on the cakes on display in the glass case. Chocolate cakes. Blueberry pies. Everything in between. I inhaled, and the smell of cake mixed with the scent of books filled my nostrils. I couldn’t quite figure out what this place was. A bookstore? Some kind of bakery? What? It was puzzling. That’s when I heard a door open somewhere, and before I could fully decide what kind of place this was, a girl, seventeen at most, appeared behind the counter. Her hair was dark and tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. And a big smile. “Hi!” she greeted cheerfully. “What genre are you looking for today?”

“Genre?” I confusedly repeated. “I don’t think I-“

“That’s okay,” she interrupted cheerfully. “Why don’t you have a piece of cake while you think about it? I guarantee we have every book here at the book café!”

“Book café?” I echoed. I was starting to feel dumb. “I don’t think I understand?”

She tilted her head. “You’re not here for books?”

“No, I’m here to find my... my grandmother.”

“Oh!” the teenager looked like something was dawning on her. “You’re Helena Frost! Mollie’s granddaughter, right?”

“Yes,” I said, relieved that we were at the same page when it at least came to this. “I am.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she chuckled, emerging from behind the counter with an outstretched hand. “I’m Vanessa. I work here.”

“Helena Frost,” I told her as I shook her hand once.

“Yeah, Mollie did mention you were coming in today. I’ve been a bit distracted. Sorry. Uhm, why don’t you sit down while you wait for her?”

“She’s not here?”

“She is. Just went out back to help Christie,” the girl replied, pointing back with a finger towards a door. 

“Oh. Alright.” admittedly, this annoyed me. I didn’t want to sit in a café. I just wanted to go home and put my feet up. Maybe have a cup of my grandmother’s tea. 

“You want something? Tea? Cake?” the girl offered. 

“No, thank you. I’m good.”

“Alright then. Just let me know if you need anything.” She went back behind the counter to fiddle with something, and I glanced around in this most strange place. It was safe to say that I had never been in   
a place like this before. I didn’t think a place like this could actually exist. It looked like something from a different time. So anonymous from the outside. Just a little white building. But the inside was like entering some sort of magical place. Had my grandmother even mentioned this place? She would have. A wave of guilt rushed over me. I hadn’t been particularly good at listening to what she was saying lately. In fact I had been terrible. Far too wrapped up in my own self-pity. I hadn’t been a very good granddaughter. She had probably told me about this place many, many times. I just hadn’t listened to her. As I sat and waited for her to appear, I made a vow to myself about being better. From now on I would pay attention when she was telling me stuff. I would be here in the moment with her. Cherish our time together instead of disappearing inside my own mind. That was what had cost be so much. What had cost me Sarah. My gut twisted a little when I thought about her. It had been two years since I inadvertently had pushed her away, and I still felt terrible about the way things had ended between us. The way I had ended things between us. Because it had been my fault. Mine and mine alone. Sarah had been nothing but sweet and attentive. And yet I had completely blown it. Like I had blown many things. I had ruined a perfectly good relationship because I had been so busy wallowing in my self-pity and tried to quell that “wrong” feeling I’d had ever since it had happened. I shook my head in an attempt to stop thinking about all that now. I had to move forward. That was what all the experts kept telling me. ‘Move forward, Helena. That’s the most important thing.’ I would have to remember that. Think ahead instead of thinking of the past. 

“Nena, my dear!” 

I looked up, and my face broke into a smile. There she was. My dear grandmother. Just seeing her made everything feel better. She gave me a feeling of not being so lost after all as she stood there in her tidy long skirt and turtleneck sweater. Grey shawl draped over her shoulders. The white hair was elegantly styled as always, and she was wearing her usual pearl earrings. 

“Hi, grandma,” I greeted. 

She opened her arms. “Helena, my darling! Come here and give me a hug!”

I willingly obeyed and smiled as I stood from the old leather chair and walked over to her. She immediately pulled me into a tight hug, and I could faintly smell some kind of seasoning. 

“I have missed you so much, my dear,” she said. “It’s been too long.” 

“It has,” I said a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been-“

“It’s no matter,” she said gently as she released me and patted my cheek. “You’re here now. That’s the only thing that matters. And we’ll have such a wonderful time while you’re here.”

“We will,” I agreed. “The best.”

“I’ve made a roast for tonight,” she revealed, and I smiled, because that was exactly what I had hoped for. 

“That sounds good, grandma. Say, what is this place?” I asked as I looked around in this unusual room. 

“It’s a book café,” grandma said simply. “Which reminds me that you have to meet Christie!”

“Christie?” I echoed, but grandma ignored me and turned her head. Her voice was soft when she called: “Christie? My granddaughter is here, and I would love to introduce you to one another.”

“Who is Christie?” I asked, immediately intrigued by the unusual name. 

“Christie is the owner of the book café,” grandma told me. 

“Oh.” I nodded. Christie was one of my grandmother’s friends. Yes, that made sense. I recognized the name now. She was the lady my grandmother had mentioned over the phone the last time we spoke. She had to be a relatively new friend, though. Otherwise my grandmother would have mentioned her more often. Or- a rush of guilty conscience washed over me- perhaps she had. Perhaps grandma had mentioned this mysterious lady named ‘Christie’ about a billion times. I had just been too wrapped up in my pity-party to notice. Some granddaughter I was. I couldn’t even pay attention to when my grandmother was saying something. 

I heard heavy yet soft footsteps, but no little old lady the same age as my grandmother appeared in the doorway. Instead the biggest dog I’ve ever seen came padding into the room. A magnificent beast of a Great Dane. 40 inches tall at least and almost ridiculously wide. Enormous paws, a tail wagging proudly and ears that perked ever so slightly. A beautiful, glossy grey, almost silver coat and two gorgeous blue eyes. I was immediately taken by this gorgeous beast, but the dog ignored me and walked over to the fireplace and curled up. Grandma chuckled, and being the dog less dog lover I was, I just had to ask: “who’s this?”

“Tiny,” Grandma told me.

The dog’s ears perked up. 

“Tiny?” I repeated and wanted to laugh. Never had I met someone who fitted his name worse than this dog did. 

“Yes,” grandma said simply, and before I could get the chance to inquire further, I heard footsteps again. Soft ones. So gentle you could barely hear them. And a slight rustling sound I couldn’t quite figure out what was.

“Ah, there’s Christie!” grandma said warmly as she turned her head. 

I did the same. Had been so distracted by the appearance of the enormous dog, but now my attention was solely on the woman who had just walked through the door. 

Christie was not a little old lady. Quite the contrary. She was a young woman. Not very tall, probably not even 4’11, but years younger than I was. She didn’t look a day over eighteen. She was wearing black leggings that appeared to be quite well loved. There were white spots on the knees. The oversized, bronze colored sweater she was wearing over her leggings made her seem even smaller. She had rolled up the sleeves to her elbows, and that gave way to milky skin coated in freckles. I imagined that she was freckled all over. Her cheeks were rounded, her eyes were the most unusual ones I had ever seen. One green and one brown. Her nose was small and upturned. A button nose, almost. Her lips seemed to be a bit pouty even when she wasn’t trying to pout. I imagined that she was one of those people whose smile took you completely by surprise. A tiny wrinkle had become visible between her eyes as she looked from me to my grandmother, and one of her pale, freckled hands came up to brush hair away from her eyes. She had the longest and reddest hair I had ever seen in my life. Reaching a good inch below her waist and thick and shiny and coppery. An unexpected jolt surged through my body when I looked at her. 

I honestly wasn’t sure what to say or do. I felt as though I had struck by lightning. Strange thoughts flittered through my mind. One of them being that this woman reminded me of Anne of Green Gables.

Her gaze flickered from me to my grandmother, and she was clearly waiting for either of us to say something. I couldn’t for some reason, so it all came down to my grandmother: “Nena, this is Christie,” she said warmly. “Christie, this is my granddaughter, Nena.”

“Nena?” Christie said softly and her accent made it sound like Nee-nuh. “I thought it was Helena?”

“It is,” I said, suddenly finding my voice again. “My name’s Helena,” I said and stuck my hand out to greet her. “Nice to meet you, Christie.”

“Christie Rose Starling,” she corrected. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t shake hands.”

“Oh,” I said, awkwardly dropping my hand. “Okay.”

“Nice to meet you, Helena,” she added. Grandma had one way to pronounce my name. She always said He-LE-na, but Christie pronounced it He-LAY-na.

Grandma put a hand on my shoulder. “Come, Nena. I think you’re tired after the trip, and I have a roast in the oven. But we’ll come back here. I think you’d enjoy sitting and writing here.” she turned her attention to Christie- Christie Rose Starling. “Goodbye, dear. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Mollie,” Christie replied. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Thank you, my dear. You’ll have to come over for dinner one evening.”

“We’ll see,” Christie said and pushed a lock of her red hair behind her ear. “I do have a lot to do.”

“I know you do, dear,” my grandmother said warmly. “But I would be very happy to see you for dinner.”

She smiled, and grandma slipped her arm through mine. “Come, Nena. Otherwise my roast will burn.” 

I laughed. “That would be a shame.”

We left the sweet little book café with the enormous dog and redhaired woman inside of it. I felt oddly out of place. Unsure of what to think about my initial thoughts about Christie and the odd jolt I had felt when looking at her....


	11. Christie 30th of November

30th of November, Shieldaig 02:30 PM

Christie

She looked like the type of person who smelled really nice. 

The thought popped into my head before I could do anything about it, and then I shook my head and wondered if the thought would ever have popped into a neurotypical brain. Probably not. I wiped my palms on the back of my dress and wondered why my palms had gone so damp all the sudden. So that was Helena Frost, author, and the granddaughter of Mollie Griffith. Single and unmarried from what I knew. She had looked very exclusive with her honey blonde hair cut in a perfect bobbed style. She’d had blue eyes. Cerulean blue eyes. Her eyes had immediately made me think of crystal blue water. 

There had been tiny crow’s feet around her eyes. I wondered how old she was. Thirty five? Thirty six? I had never been very good at judging age. I quickly visualized her clothing. She had been wearing a beige colored trench coat. Exclusive, definitely. Sharp. But she had also tried softening it by wearing a light scarf. There had been daffodils on the scarf. The symbolism for a new beginning. Was that what she was hoping to find here, or was I simply reading too much into it?

Most likely. It wouldn’t be the first time I had done that. I shifted a bit in an attempt to get comfortable again. Meeting new people really wasn’t my favorite thing. Not even when Mollie was the one to introduce me. I never knew what to do with myself. I never knew how to maintain eye contact with strangers. I felt awkward looking into someone’s eyes for too long, but I also knew that it was considered rude to not look at the person at all. It was such a fine line, and I still didn’t know how to balance it. I sighed. I had a feeling that I accidentally had been rude to Helena Frost, and it didn’t take me long to figure out how and why. The handshake thing. I think I might have been pretty brusque when I rejected shaking her hand. But my hands had been all dusty because I had been touching books. There hadn’t been time for me to wash them. I wouldn’t want Mollie to wait for me after she had called out to me the first time. And then of course there was the germ thing. Touching strangers hands always made my germaphobia skyrocket. 

But not shaking someone’s hand had been impolite. I sighed. Once again, I had managed to be unintentionally rude. I hoped Mollie or Helena wasn’t angry with me now. I knew that Mollie wouldn’t be, but maybe Helena would? Either way, she would definitely think of me as strange. Weird, even. But that was something I was used to. I had been the “weird one” in school. The quiet bookworm who wasn’t interested in making friends. My life had really first started the moment I met her in college. 

My thoughts were interrupted when Tiny came trotting over to me. He started to nudge me, and I chuckled. “Is it time to go home, boy?”

He let out a short bark in response. 

“Okay, let’s go home,” I agreed. It was high time to heat up some soup and curl up in front of the television with an episode of Midsomer Murders. 

I put a leash on Tiny, and he waited patiently by my side while I shrugged on my parka coat. My hair got stuck in the zipper, and I once again scolded myself for having forgotten my hair tie at home. I had been feeling ruffled and disorganized all day because of it. I disliked letting my hair hang loose, and for something that felt like the millionth time, I considered to just chop off my hair and live the rest of my life with a pixie cut. The only reason why I wasn’t doing it was because my she had loved my hair. ‘Christie-coo, I love your hair’, she had said. ‘It is so beautiful!’. So I let it stay like it was. But always tied back in either a ponytail or a braid. Never loose like it had been today. It was only because I had misplaced my preferred hair tie and none of the others were quite as good. 

Tiny and I left the store. I locked up the place and left the key under the mat as always. Then ventured down the snowy road. I had a feeling that it would be snowing all night. “Maybe it’ll be a hot cocoa kind of night,” I told Tiny. 

He ignored me and continued to sniff in the snow. When he lifted his head, his nose was all white, and he snorted slightly.

“Did you get snow in your nose, boy?” I laughed. He looked so goofy. So offended. “Don’t give me that look,” I chuckled. “I wasn’t the one who asked you to put your nose in the snow.”

“Ruff.” He said. Clearly blaming me for his misfortune. 

“You’re so silly,” I told him. “My silly boy.”

He pulled on the leash. Clearly the snow wasn’t all that interesting anymore. Or perhaps he was cold. Maybe he would have to wear his coat tomorrow if this cold continued. He probably wouldn’t be too   
fond of that idea, but it was for his own good. 

Tiny and I made it home to my little white cottage. The first thing Tiny did once relieved of his leash, was curling up on the rug in front of the fireplace. I shrugged off my coat and boots and went into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and found a box of soup I popped into the microwave. It didn’t take long before the scent of tomato spread through the kitchen. While it heated up, I headed into the bathroom and did a throughout search. And I found the hair tie I hadn’t been able to find this morning. It was lying under the sink. I immediately tied my hair back and sighed of relief. That was so much better. Now there was no more hair falling in my face. 

The microwave dinged and I headed back into the kitchen and saved my soup. I glanced at the kitchen table where my book from this morning (Winter Wood by Kristin Hannah) was laying and waiting for me. But for once I decided against reading while I was eating. Or sitting by the kitchen table. I felt a bit tired and the need to sink into my old leather couch was overwhelming. I joined Tiny in the living room. Sat my bowl of soup and spoon down on the coffee table and then walked over to the television where I crouched down to switch on the DVD. Then I opened the little drawer under the television where all my DVD’s were stacked. “What do you think, Tiny?” I asked. “Which episode should we watch?”

“Ruff-ruff!”

“Is that The Killings at Badgers Drift I hear?”

“Ruff-ruff-ruff!”

I laughed. “Okay. That’s a great choice, Tiny. We’ll start right from the beginning, yeah?” I found the first season of Midsomer Murders and let the slim disk slide into the DVD. I switched on the DVD, and soon the image of Emily Simpson heading out on her fateful bike ride appeared on the screen. I got settled in the couch with the bowl of soup in my lap. Tiny came over to me. Not to beg for food, but to lie next to me. He always did that whenever I chose to eat in the living room. I stretched comfortably. It was good to be home. Not that it had been such a hard day at work, really. It was only my morning that had almost ended in a meltdown for me. Even half-meltdowns tended to be draining for me. Maybe because it had been a while since I last had been on the brink of a meltdown. 

As I saw poor sweet Emily Simpson witness something scandalous in her beloved woods, I thought about Helena Frost. I hoped that Mollie wouldn’t bring her back into the store. Meeting her today had been stressful enough, and if she were to show up again unexpected.... I shook my head. No, that wouldn’t be good. Mollie would have to send word to me if she really intended to bring Helena back to the store. I hoped that Helena had plenty of other things to do while she was here. She was a writer after all. She was probably far too busy hanging about in my store. 

I took another mouthful of the soup and tried to forget everything expect the episode of Midsomer Murders I was watching. 

Next to me, Tiny sighed deeply, and it didn’t take long before I found myself copying that sound.


	12. Helena 30th of November

30th of November, Shieldaig 02:20 PM

Helena

As we walked back to my grandmother’s cottage, my mind kept repeating her name over and over again. Christie. Christie. Christie Rose Starling. That was a name straight out of a fairytale. Christie Rose Starling, owner of The Storybook Nook, and the enormous dog who apparently was called Tiny. Christie with the red hair and the unusual eyes. I barely kept attending as we made it to my grandmother’s cottage, and she opened the door for me. 

“Come in, my dear,” she sang, and I finally snapped out of it and looked around. The hallway was exactly as I remembered it. Small with cream colored walls and forest green carpet on the floor. 

“Here, let me take your coat, Nena,” grandma continued. 

I distractedly took off my coat and gave it to grandma. She smiled as she carefully hung it on the coat rack. “What a lovely coat, dear.”

I smiled at her, and when she gestured for me to follow her into the kitchen, I willingly did so. I was greeted by Pepper, her ancient cat who had to be over fifteen years old at least. I absentmindedly stroked his soft fur and scratched behind his ear. I couldn’t concentrate. I was still thinking about Christie Rose Starling and her startling eyes. 

“You want some tea after that long trip, don’t you, dear?”

I nodded and suffocated a smile. Tea. I always neglected to drink tea even though I lived in London.

“Sit down, Nena, and make yourself comfortable,” my grandmother half ordered. 

I sat down. Wondered what on earth had just happened to me. It had been like getting an electric jolt. But not an entirely unpleasant jolt. I didn’t quite know how to describe what I felt when I was introduced to Christie Rose Starling. There had been something about her. Something.... Familiar. Something that had made my heart flutter in my chest. But that was ridiculous, of course. I had never met her before in my life. Today was the first time I ever saw her. It had to be the jetlag, I decided. Yes. I was just tired, that was all. 

Grandma sat down across me and patted my hand. “I am so happy you’re here, dear. It’s been too long.”

“It has,” I agreed. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been so-“ so what? Busy? I scoffed. Busy doing what? Procrastinating? Looking at my computer screen and hoping for a miracle? Or perhaps I had been busy pushing my girlfriend away, so she ended up leaving me. To sum up, I had been busy ruining my life. That’s what I had been doing. 

Grandma understood. Grandma always understood. She patted my hand. “You’re here now, Nena. That’s the only thing that matters.”

I nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She squeezed my hand. “Don’t you worry about a thing, my dear. Everything will get better once you’ve spend some time here.”

I chuckled and didn’t dare protesting. Even though I doubted a week in Shieldaig would magically solve everything. 

“Plenty of inspiration for writing,” grandma continued and glanced out of the window. 

That I had to agree with. It truly was a beautiful place. 

“And plenty of places too,” she went on. “You could sit here and write. I promise I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

I chuckled again. 

“Or you could head over to the Storybook Nook,” she said and smiled. “Very cozy place. The fireplace is always lit, and there’s always plenty of cakes and tea. Or coffee if you prefer. And Christie is always so quiet. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s given me a fright by appearing out of nowhere right next to me.” she laughed softly.

I laughed along with her, but then couldn’t resist to ask: “how long have you known her?”

“Christie? Well, I met her shortly after she moved here, so it must be... three years. Yes. Three years now. Time flies.”

“Three years?” I repeated. Christie had looked eighteen. Too young to own a store let alone having lived her for a longer period of time. “How old is she?”

“Oh, she’s twenty five,” my grandmother said. The kettle started whistling, and she got up to make the tea. She briskly chatted about the weather and how there probably would be more snow to come, but I was barely paying attention. Christie was twenty five. She had looked eighteen. I wasn’t sure whether it was because of her small stature or big eyes, but she had. And why was I still thinking about her? That was ridiculous. I quietly scolded myself and snapped out of it the moment my grandmother placed a cup of tea in front of me. 

“Thanks, gran,” I smiled. 

“You’re welcome, dear.” She sat down with her own cup of tea, and I could see that she was about to say something. Maybe she was going to ask me about the book I had tried to write for the past two years. And I was not ready for that. I was not ready to talk about the book. Not yet. So I spoke before she could: “how are you doing, grandma?”

“Oh, I’m doing perfectly okay,” she said in that tone that suggested that she ‘always’ was fine. 

“How is the arthritis?” I asked. I knew it tended to get bad when the weather was cold like it was now. 

“It’s not that bad, Nena. Nothing to worry about at all,” grandma brushed me off, but I didn’t buy that. I had seen her look down at her hands which were curled around her mug, and I could see how   
swollen her knuckles were because of the arthritis. I instantly felt bad. Her arthritis was clearly very bad. “I’m sorry,” I said and felt a twinge of guilt in my stomach. 

“For what, dear?” she sat her mug down.

“Gran.” I leaned forward and put my hand over hers. “I can see how swollen your knuckles are. Your arthritis is flaring up really bad right now. It probably always does around this time, and I haven’t been here to-“

“Helena.” Grandma interrupted me and gave my hand a squeeze. “You’ve been plenty busy in London. With everything. I don’t blame you at all. I am just happy that you’re here now.”

“But you’ve been on your own,” I tried again. 

Grandma laughed. “Dear, even though my birth certificate says what it says, I’m not that poorly yet. I can manage still. And on the days where my arthritis has been flaring up, Christie has been very sweet.   
She’s shopped for me and made me food.”

I tilted my head. “So... Christie takes care of you?”

“Some days. She’s an absolute sweetheart. Very shy, but sweet.” Grandma beamed. “You have to go back to her store and chat with her. You won’t meet a nicer girl than her, she’s an absolute delight!”

Yes, so I had noticed. As much as I tried, I couldn’t do anything about the way my heart seemed to skip beats. Ordinarily, that would have concerned me, it couldn’t do anything else. But today I wasn’t concerned. I was positively puzzled and confused. It had to be the jetlag messing with my head in some sort of way, right? I was tired. I hadn’t slept. And because of that, random feelings were suddenly popping up all over the place. Because of me. Not because of Christie. Of course not. She was just the owner of a bookstore and nothing more.


	13. Christie 1st of December

1st of December, Shieldaig 06:00 AM

Christie

“Tiny,” I protested and chuckled sleepily as he stuck his wet nose in my ear and sniffed loudly. “Stop it!”

My alarm clock started beeping seconds after Tiny’s wakeup call, and I sat up in bed and switched it off. Rubbed my eyes and focused on my breathing for a few minutes. Once sure that my heartrate was nice and calm, I slipped out of bed and walked over to the window. Pulled the curtains aside. The world was completely white. A new layer of snow had fallen sometimes during the night, and I smiled at the thought of Tiny sniffing about in the garden and sniffing and snorting when he accidentally got snow up his nose. The sky was bright blue, and when I opened the window, I could immediately feel how cold it was. It had to be at least five degrees below freezing, and it would get even colder during the day. There had also been some talk of the possibility of a snowstorm hitting us, but I don’t think it was certain yet. 

“Come on you,” I said to Tiny as I turned around. “Let’s find you some breakfast.”

He was on board with that. He yelped happily and skipped ahead as I shrugged my bathrobe over my pajamas. 

As soon as I reached the kitchen, I fed Tiny, and while he ate, I popped the kettle on to make myself a nice cup of tea. Then I filled his water bowl and patiently waited until he was done eating. Tiny was like me. He loved routines. And slurping water from the bowl after he had eaten, was as much a part of his routine as tea was a part of mine. 

“All done?” I asked once he lifted his head from the bowl and licked his now even more wet nose. He burped in response, and I chuckled. 

“Okay then. You wanna go outside?” immediately, I felt silly, because of course Tiny wanted to go outside. That too was a part of his morning routine. 

“Out you go,” I announced as I opened the door to the backyard. 

Tiny went outside, and I left the door cracked ajar so I could hear him in case he got into trouble or started barking at something for whatever reason. I took the kettle off and filled my mug with the boiled water. That mug was my favorite. The red one with the big white dots she had given me. It was bigger than most mugs. ‘Room for plenty of tea,’ she had said whilst grinning. She had sweetly teased me about how much tea I drank, and now the memory made me smile rather than make me feel sad. I felt better than yesterday. Grief was strange like that. One day you’re really sad and the next you’re grateful for all the memories. 

I finished making the tea, pouring just a dash of milk in as a finishing touch, and then I took the first sip. Mmm. The tea immediately warmed me from the inside, and just like that, I knew today was gonna be a good day. Because I wanted it to be, and because I had deserved to have a good day. 

I made toasts for breakfast as always, and exactly like he always did, Tiny appeared by my side just as the two slices popped up in the toaster. 

“Hello, kind Sir. How nice of you to join me,” I quipped and chuckled to myself as I brushed snow away from Tiny’s nose. He had clearly had some fun outside, but as far as I could judge, he hadn’t rolled around in the snow. Not yet. I buttered the two slices of toast and then settled down at the table. Tiny followed me and laid down by my feet as I ate. Like he always did. I praised him. Told him he was a good boy, and then I grabbed the book I had been reading a little bit in last night. ‘It was broad daylight when Anne awoke and sat up in bed, staring confusedly at the window through which a flood of cheery sunshine was pouring and outside of which something white and feathery waved across glimpses of blue sky,’ I told Tiny and smiled when I saw his ears perk up. He liked it when I read to him. ‘For a moment she could not remember where she was. First came a delightful thrill, as something very pleasant; then a horrible remembrance. This was Green Gables and they didn’t want her because she wasn’t a boy! But it was morning and, yes, it was a cherry-tree in full bloom outside of her window. With a bound she was out of bed and across the floor. She pushed up the sash—it went up stiffly and creakily, as if it hadn’t been opened for a long time, which was the case; and it stuck so tight that nothing was needed to hold it up.” I turned a page in the book and smiled down at Tiny before continuing: ‘Anne dropped on her knees and gazed out into the June morning, her eyes glistening with delight. Oh, wasn’t it beautiful? Wasn’t it a lovely place? Suppose she wasn’t really going to stay here! She would imagine she was. There was scope for imagination here.’ I paused to take a sip of my tea and then a bite of my toast. Tiny squeaked. He wanted toast although he knew he couldn’t have it. 

I ignored his begging and instead asked: “you like Anne, don’t you?”

He squeaked again. Most likely begging still, but I chose to take it as a yes instead. “Me, too,” I told him. “I like Anne a lot.” I had learned a lot from Anne of Green Gables. To be more appreciate of the little things in life. Peaceful mornings like this one for instance. ‘A huge cherry-tree grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped against the house, and it was so thick-set with blossoms that hardly a leaf was to be seen. On both sides of the house was a big orchard, one of apple-trees and one of cherry-trees, also showered over with blossoms; and their grass was all sprinkled with dandelions. In the garden below were lilac-trees purple with flowers, and their dizzily sweet fragrance drifted up to the window on the morning wind.’ I could smell the flowers and sense the morning wind. That was what I cherished most about books. Their ability to completely whisk me away as I read. I stopped reading aloud and instead concentrated on eating breakfast as I read the tale of Anne’s first morning at Green Gables. The sun shone brightly in at me through the window, and I felt warm gratitude roll through my veins. The hopelessness I had been feeling yesterday was long forgotten. Yes, today was going to be a good one. I could feel it. Today I would greet every customer with a smile. And maybe I would even teach myself how to operate that espresso machine. Wasn’t it about time? Vanessa wouldn’t be there always. Eventually, she would go off to school. I would have to find another assistant by then. But for now, I pushed the concerns aside. Today I just wanted a quiet morning. As I turned a page in Anne of Green Gables, I reminded myself that I should probably call my mom later. It had been a while since I last checked in with her. But talking to her sometimes exhausted me. She always asked how everything was going, and I had learned to recognize that as her asking me if anything had changed. Meaning if I had moved on yet. She never actually said that, but I knew that was what she meant. And the answer was always no. I had not moved on. I didn’t want to. There was no ‘moving on’ for me. Not ever. Not from her. 

Immediately, I pushed the negative thoughts aside. Not today. “Today I’ll be like Anne,” I said firmly. “Positive and grateful. Enough negativity.” I firmly emptied the mug of tea. After having carefully swallowed and making sure I couldn’t taste the tea any longer, I ate the rest of my toast. Now I really had to get a move on. It was time to get dressed.

“Oi, be careful, Tiny,” I gently scolded as he got in front of me when I walked over to the sink to rinse the plate and cup.

His only reaction was to lick my right foot, and I immediately protested and laughed. “I do not need a bath. At least not from you, mister.” 

Obviously, he only licked my leg, and I sighed and chuckled once more. Silly boy. I was grateful for him. He always knew exactly how to make me smile. Once I had thoroughly washed and dried the plate and cup and cranked the window open to get some fresh air inside the house, I paused my morning routine to crouch down and rub Tiny’s head. “You’re such a good boy,” I cooed whilst avoiding his attempt at slobbery. “Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

He barked, happy about the attention. 

“Are you looking forward to going to the store later?” I asked him. “Are you looking forward to curling up in front of the fireplace?”

He tried to lick my ear. 

“You lucky boy,” I chuckled. “Just curling up in front of the fireplace all day. Maybe I should teach you to carry the books or something.” 

Tiny let out a short yelp at that, but I didn’t laugh as I shushed him this time. Because I had suddenly picked up on another sound. A different sound. Tiny barked again. 

“Shh, be quiet, Tiny,” I said and rose from my crouching position on the floor. I could almost feel my ears perk up as I listened intensely. There it was again. The saddest, most helpless little whimper I had ever heard in my life. And it was clearly coming from outside. “I wonder what that could be?” I murmured as I left the kitchen and walked into the hallway. I swapped my slippers for my wellies and ventured outside in the snow covered backyard. Tiny let out an insulted ruff when I closed the door in his face, but I didn’t want him with me right now. There was clearly some kind of small animal in distress outside, and I didn’t want Tiny to disturb it further. 

I found what I was looking for in a sort of pocket in the snow right by the hedge. There was a hare laying trembling and whimpering, it’s long ears almost glued to its back. The animal was clearly in pain, and it didn’t take me long to figure out why. I almost felt like whimpering myself when I spotted the large gash on the hare’s side. I wasn’t sure what had happened to the hare, perhaps a larger animal had tried to attack it or something, but I did know that I couldn’t just leave the hare to lie here. It was so could outside today, and the wound on the hare’s side looked very painful. It wouldn’t survive on its own out here. 

As on cue, the hare whimpered again. Seemed to look at me when it’s big, black eyes. It was silently asking me- no, begging me- to help. And how could I possibly refuse to do that? 

I slowly and carefully approached the wounded animal and crouched down. “Hey there,” I said gently. “That looks really painful.”

The hare whimpered. I could see how fast it was breathing. “Will you let me help you?” I asked softly. “I promise, I won’t harm you.” I slowly reached out. 

The hare did not move although I knew it had to be afraid of me. I was big and scary. It’s natural instinct was telling it to flee, but it couldn’t because of the pain. My heart clenched. “Poor thing,” I cooed and stretched my fingers just a tiny bit. Now I could touch its head. So soft and fluffy. So cold. Had there been any doubt in my mind before, there wasn’t anymore. I definitely could not leave the hare to its fate. 

“Come here, let’s get you inside,” I said as I slipped off my bathrobe. I was still slowing my movements as much as I could not to frighten the hare even more. It didn’t react when I slowly laid my bathrobe over it. Nor did it kick or try to bite or scratch when I gently lifted it out of the snow and into my arms. 

“There now,” I said gently and draped my bathrobe a little better over the wounded animal. The robe would get soaked in blood, but that was just something I’d had to deal with later. Right now, tending to the wounded animal was far more important. The hare needed me. 

“Come on then,” I said as I carefully adjusted the injured hare in my arms. Apart from the wound, I couldn’t be certain whether the hare had any broken bones. I had to be really careful. 

The hare whimpered in my arms as I carried it out of the yard and back to the house. “It’s gonna be okay,” I assured, holding it a little bit closer. “I promise I’ll take really good care of you.... Marilla.” I chuckled to myself. Naming the hare was probably silly, this was a wild animal and not a pet for me to keep, but still, the hare would be needing at least a day or two to recover in my house, and so it felt right to name it. And what better name was there than Marilla? 

Inside the house, I was greeted by a very curious Tiny who tried his best to take a good look and most likely a good sniff at the hare in my arms. 

The hare shivered and made a sort of hissing sound in warning. 

“Tiny, no!” I said firmly, displaying some rare sternness for once. “Be nice.”

Tiny cocked his head and sniffed in the air. He wasn’t much of a hunter, but he still liked running around and yelp at the small animals in the garden. 

“This is Marilla,” I told him. “She’s got a nasty gash on her side, and she’s going to stay with us for a few days, okay? She’s not feeling so well, so you’re going to leave her alone, Tiny.” 

Tiny made this sort of puffing sound he always made when I was talking to him. 

“Good boy. Alright, let’s see what we can do for you, Marilla,” I said as I walked past Tiny and up the stairs to the bathroom. I had to clean the wound. Make sure there was no little stones or dirty or shards of glass and whatnot in the wound. 

Upstairs in the bathroom, I carefully laid Marilla down on the warm tiles and unwrapped her from the bathrobe. She didn’t try to crawl or hop away. She was too weak. I could see her furry chest rise and fall too quickly, and I felt a twinge of concern. Poor little thing. I hoped she was going to be okay. She was just a bit leveret. After having rinsed my hands thoroughly, I opened a drawer and found what I was looking for. A tweezer. A magnifying glass. A pair of rubber gloves. And some clear gauze. Now I was ready. I was by no means a veterinarian, but I had to try and help the hare as best as I could. 

My robe had soaked up all the blood, and even though the robe was probably ruined, this was a good thing. Losing more blood wouldn’t be good.

“Alright, let me see what I can do,” I said gently. I slipped on the gloves, took the tweezer in one hand and the magnifying glass in the other. “I’m sorry if this hurts, but I have to clean the wound, so you have to stay very still, okay, Marilla?”

The little hare did not move, but I could see her little nostrils flare in fear and pain. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologized even before having started. I knew this wasn’t going to be comfortable for the leveret.

And I was right. While she was too weak to thump her feet or kick or scratch or bite me, she was still protesting in her own way. Whimpering every time I removed dirt from the wound in her side. I kept apologizing and talking gently to her. Maybe she was a wild animal, but she could definitely hear me, and I was sure my voice made her feel a little bit more calm. Actually, Marilla was not the first wild animal I had tended to. A few years back it had been a baby deer. He had been hit by a car and had broken his leg. I had been in the car with Mollie when I spotted him laying at the side of the road, and I had begged her to stop the car. She had done as I asked, and I had stormed out of the car, nearly been hit by one myself, but hadn’t been aware enough to care about it. All my attention had been on the baby deer and his injury. I had done exactly like I was doing now. I had taken off my coat and draped it over the animal. Then I had carefully scooped the baby deer into my arms and carried her back to the car. Mollie had taken us to Jennie, our local veterinary. The baby deer had to get an operation in order to save the leg, but he had survived, and six weeks later he was back in the wild. I didn’t know if he had reunited with his mom, but I chose to believe that he had. 

“There we are. All done, Marilla,” I said as I put the tweezer down. “Nice and clean. Well, almost, anyway.” I grabbed a little bowl and filled it with fresh, cold water. Then I carefully washed out the wound to make sure it really was clean of any dirty. Marilla had stopped whimpering, and I chuckled quietly to myself. After the incident with the deer, Mollie had claimed that I had ‘mysterious powers’ over animals. And maybe she was right. Over the years, I had attracted many, many stray cats and birds and other little critters. 

“There. Only one more thing left,” I told Marilla as I grabbed the gauze. I carefully placed it over the wound and held it there with one hand whilst grabbing the bandage with the other. Marilla did not fuss as I gently wrapped the bandage around her little body. Tight enough to make sure the gauze underneath didn’t slip, but not tight enough to irritate or obstruct her breathing. 

“Now we just have to get you to Jennie’s,” I told her and looked down at my pajamas. A few drops of blood had spilled onto my pajama bottoms. “And I have to get ready for work...”


	14. Helena 1st of December

1st of December, Shieldaig 07:05 AM

Helena

My morning started like most others. Regaining consciousness and silently complaining about it. Reluctance to waking up but accepting that I had to. Sitting up in bed and rubbing my eyes. Then the high pitched sound in my ear. Tinnitus. Stress-related, my doctor had told me, and in the same breath he had recommended yoga and mindfulness. Needless to say that I hadn’t tried either of it. I was still hoping that the tinnitus would go away on its own. And there were indeed moments where I forgot that it existed. 

I got out of bed and padded barefooted over to the window. Lifted the blinds. Everything was white. A fresh layer of snow had fallen since last night. Everything looked so idyllic. The loch stretching out endlessly in front of me. The mountains behind my grandmother’s little white cottage. Even though I was a city girl by heart, I could perfectly understand why my grandmother had uprooted her London life when my grandfather died twenty years ago and moved to this quiet little Scottish village. My mother did not. She still wrinkled her nose when talking about her mother’s ‘simple’ lifestyle. My mother wrinkled her nose about most things. Including my ‘failing career’ as she put it. Which was nice of her when you thought about it. I hadn’t published anything in two years. That wasn’t a failing career. 

That was a career that was as dead as could be. 

I chuckled darkly to myself as I turned away from the window and opened the dresser to find some clothes. I ended up choosing a pair of dove grey colored slacks and a fitted, deep green blouse. Pretty without getting too comfortable. I didn’t want to look like a mess even though I felt like it on the inside. After having put the clothes on the bed so it was ready, I shrugged on my robe, went back to the window, and cracked it open. A cold winter breeze hit my skin, and I took a deep breath despite shivering. I breathed the fresh, cold air all the way into my lungs. Perhaps grandma had a point. Perhaps the air really was different here. I would definitely take a walk later and get re-acquainted with this little town. It had been too long since I last was here. I felt guilty about that. Grandma, as young as she felt on the inside, was an old lady. She wouldn’t be here forever, and when that day came, I didn’t want to be left with the feeling of not being here enough while I had the chance. If my previous experiences had taught me anything, it was that life was short and that you had to make the most of it. 

Now I would really take that advice to heart. I would stop moping around once and for all and really re-invent myself. It was the new me. Say goodbye to Helena and hello to Helena. 

I tightened the robe around me, grabbed my clothes and then headed down the hall to the bathroom. There were two bathrooms in my grandmother’s cottage. One upstairs and one downstairs. Grandma’s bedroom was also downstairs. It was easier for her. 

In the bathroom, I shrugged the bathrobe off and stripped out of my pajamas. Stepped into the shower and yelped when the cold water hit my skin. I squirmed and huddled into the corner of the tiny shower whilst waiting for the water to warm up. That certainly took longer compared to my place back in London. And the bathroom was tiny. The shower was cramped and definitely not made for taller people. 

I scoffed, annoyed with myself. Now I was complaining again. Complaining and moping like a moody teenager. Pull yourself together, Helena, I told myself. Don’t be like this all the time. It doesn’t suit you. Really, I had to work on my attitude. Really work on it. 

I quickly soaped in my body and washed my hair. Fortunately enough, grandma was the owner of a very expensive looking bottle of conditioner. Which was a good thing, because I had forgotten my own bottle of conditioner back in London. I wasn’t sure how it had happened, I didn’t normally go around and forget stuff like that. Maybe I was getting old. Or maybe it was that stress my doctor had kept talking about. Stress and depression. He had tried to coax me into taking anti-depressant medicine, but I had refused. My stubbornness had kicked in. No way I was gonna take anti-depressant medicine. I could do this on my own. Wanted to do this on my own. I was gonna take responsibility for myself. Become my own, happy self once again. I had been given a second chance in the most literal way, and I refused to waste it by moping around and mourn the loss of my old life. And Sarah. 

No, I was DEFINITELY not gonna think about her! She was the one who had walked out on me in the most difficult time of my life. It was her fault that my mother had to fly to London from Devon and be with me. She had quite literally become my nurse after Sarah walked out on me, and the anger and humiliation still sat in me like a thumping pain refusing to rest.   
I concluded my shower. Grabbed a towel and rubbed it over my hair a few times until the hair was damp rather than dripping wet. Then I switched on the blow-drier. The noise did nothing to lessen my tinnitus, but that was a cross I was willing to bear. If I didn’t use the blow-drier, my hair would take control and become this big, frizzy mess, and I refused to let that happen. I had already looked like a mess once. For several months, actually. And I was very much done with that. 

I also used a straightener, and when my hair was as straight as could be, I tied it back in a ponytail. Normally, I probably would have gone for a bun or something, but I was on holiday after all. A ponytail would be fine. 

I got dressed and frowned for a second as I buttoned the blouse. Then I smoothened a hand over the soft, silky fabric. Looked at myself in the mirror. All I needed now was a bit of makeup and then I would be done and ready for the day. 

The lightening in the bathroom was not the best, so I went back to my little bedroom. Laid out all the products. The routine was well known. I had been wearing makeup ever since I was thirteen and my mother bought me my very first lip gloss. 

I looked much more awake with the makeup on. Less worn out and tired. Ready to start the day. 

As to prove that, I went downstairs where I found my grandmother in the kitchen. She was wearing a blue frilly apron over her long sleeved grey blouse and long skirt. She looked exactly as she always did. The kitchen smelled deliciously of breakfast, and the radio was on. ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham was playing, and that’s when I remembered that it was in fact the 1st of December today. The most wonderful time of the year. 

“Good morning, grandma,” I greeted. 

“Good morning, Helena, dear,” she hummed and flashed me a smile. “How did you sleep? Well, I hope.”

“I did, actually,” I nodded, genuine surprise in my voice. I rarely slept well, and it had certainly been a very long time since I last slept as well as I did last night. 

“I’m happy to hear that, dear. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Tea? I suffocated a chuckle. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had tea for breakfast. Coffee was more my style, but I didn’t want to make it difficult for grandma. “Tea sounds nice,” I told her. 

“And toast? Or would you rather have something else? I could make you a full English breakfast if you’d like.”

“No thank you, grandma. Tea and toast is just fine.” I never had much of an appetite in the morning. I actually mostly settled for a smoothie and a cup of coffee, but again, I didn’t want to make it difficult for grandma. She so wanted to make me breakfast. It would be cruel of me to ask for something else than what she was suggesting. 

“Excellent. Sit down, dear. Breakfast will be ready in a moment.”

I obediently sat down and glanced out of the window. The sky was clear blue and the snow so white it almost hurt my eyes. It was a beautiful day. 

“Do you have any plans for the day, dear?” Grandma asked. “I promised Margaret to pop round for a chat after breakfast.”

“That sounds nice. I don’t think I have any plans for the day,” I replied. Bless her for not immediately asking me if I was going to write like everyone else did. Always the same question. Always the same stress overwhelming me once the question had been asked. “Maybe I’ll go for a walk in the nice weather,” I added to think about something that wasn’t writing. 

“What a good idea, dear. Do you think you’ll be walking past ‘The Storybook Nook’?”

“I might,” I nodded. 

“Could you perhaps pick up a book for me?” Grandma asked whilst popping two slices of toast into the toaster. “I’m reading a series, and I know Christie is keeping it for me.” 

“I can do that,” I told her, but the curiosity prompted me to ask: “are you also allowed to borrow the books?”

“Yes, Christie is very kind when it comes to loaning the books.”

“So, it’s like a library?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” grandma nodded and used her thumb to massage the knuckles on her left hand. “A book café with a dash of library to it.” 

“Interesting,” I said, but I was more busy looking at the way grandma was massaging her hand. “Is the arthritis very bad this morning, grandma?” 

“It’s just the cold weather,” grandma dismissed with a smile. “I just need to get the old fingers working, dear.”

I doubted that was what she needed. “How about I do the shopping today?” I offered. “I could make us something nice for dinner.” 

“That would be lovely, Helena. I will be looking forward to that,” grandma smiled and turned around when the toast popped up for the first time. “You like when the toast is crispy, don’t you, dear?”

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“That’s how it’s been ever since you were a little girl,” grandma said a tad nostalgic and shook her head a little. “Where did the time go?”

“I don’t know.” I truly didn’t. Sometimes I felt incredibly old, but on other days I felt so young and inexperienced it was almost pathetic. Young and scared like a kid on her first day of school. 

Grandma poured me a cup of tea and brought it over to the table. And for her sake, I quickly lifted the cup and took a sip. It wasn’t terrible. But it was definitely not coffee either. I smiled at her, told her the tea was nice, and she beamed at me. 

And I vowed to myself that I would swallow down her tea every morning. 

After breakfast, I went for a walk like I had planned. The weather was exactly as I had expected it to be. Cold, clear, crispy, and fresh. My breath was coming out as little puffs of ice cold white smoke, and I drew the coat tighter around me. Rubbed my hands. The cold were seeping right through my gloves, and my coat and scarf didn’t provide with much cover for the cold. I figured that I would settle for taking a short walk only and then head over to The Storybook Nook to pick up that book for grandma. 

Shieldaig was truly a beautiful place. Clusters of tiny cottages at the coastline and enormous mountains rising behind them. Almost as though the mountains were shielding the little cottages. Protecting them from harm. Even if I tried, I couldn’t think of a more sheltered little place than this one. There was a world of difference between this and London. Compared to this, London seemed to be on a completely different planet and not continent. I chuckled to myself as I turned the collar on my coat up as to get a little extra cover from the cold. 

“Good morning!” an elderly gentleman greeted me. 

“Good morning,” I returned the greeting and smiled. Again so very different from London. I doubted anyone would have stopped to say good morning there. Everyone was always in such a hurry. Myself included. Perhaps this place truly was good for me. Maybe I would actually benefit from being here. 

“Beautiful day, innit?” he continued in that Scottish accent that never failed to make me smile. 

“Truly,” I happily agreed with him. 

“Anyway, I should get going,” he continued. “Have a good one, miss Frost.”

“You too,” I said slightly bemused and looked at him as he walked away. He knew who I was. Perhaps everyone did. Perhaps I was expected. The wayward granddaughter returning home or something. 

I snorted quietly to myself as I continued my walk, careful not to trip in the snow. Of course the people in Shieldaig did not gossip about me. I was not that important. Of course I was not. Though I suspected that grandma had told a few people that I was coming. It was news worthy because I rarely did. If I came here more often, my arrival wouldn’t be worth gossiping about. Another reason to come here more often. 

I was sure my cheeks were already turning pink because of the cold. I tilted my head and looked up at the bright blue sky. The weather was beautiful now, but perhaps it wouldn’t continue to be. During breakfast, grandma had talked quite a lot about a snowstorm potentially coming by the end of the week. Maybe I would leave a day earlier to avoid getting caught in the snowstorm. Or perhaps a day later. 

After all, I didn’t have anything I HAD to get back to. I was as free as a bird. 

Very free indeed. No obligations whatsoever. 

I ended my walk at The Storybook Nook. Perhaps there was more to see, but frankly it was too cold to go exploring outside. Maybe I could do it another time. 

The Storybook Nook was nice and toasty warm. I took off my gloves and scarf and left my coat on the hanger. Then I tiptoed inside the store. This odd little book café with the quirky exterior. I hadn’t gotten the chance to look around much yesterday, grandma and I had been in a hurry to go home, but now I had nowhere else to be.

I glanced around in the little book café. Took in the thick, wine-red carpet on the floor. The plushy low chairs in the same colors as the carpet on the floor. The little round tables made of dark wood. One by every plushy chair. A candle placed on every table. It was like every little chair and table was a reading nook complete with your own candle and everything. There were also more café-esque looking tables and chairs placed here and there. The same candles as on the lower tables were standing proudly on top of these tables too. The tables were covered with green table cloths. Red and green seemed to be the theme in here, I noted. The rug in front of the wooden fireplace was green as well. There was no sight of the enormous dog I had seen yesterday. And there was no other customers either. I checked my watch. It was still fairly early. Maybe the book café was barely open yet. 

I continued my scan of the room. Looked at the old, vintage-looking gramophone in the corner. Soft, instrumental music was playing from it. I recognized the tunes. It was ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’. Next, I looked at the counter. The glass case where a variety of different cakes were displayed. Slices of different pies (lemon seemed to be today’s special), chocolate cakes, plain chocolate chip cookies and buns with raisins, buns without raisins, buns with chocolate and plain ones. There was an espresso machine tugged away in the corner, and I recognized the brand. I had the same one back home in London. According to what had been written on a little black board, children could have a glass of milk and a cookie for free. Furthermore, an arrow had be drawn on the black board, directing people to a door on the left. 

I went over to said door and felt a little amused when I read the sign that simply said ‘Books’. Right then. Straight to the point. I liked that. And I was curious. Of course I was. Being an author always made me curious about other people’s book collection. Who knows, maybe I would even find a copy of my own book somewhere on the shelves. Honestly, that was the biggest reason why I was curious about other peoples’ book shelves. It was all vanity. 

I pushed the door open and went inside. The room was bigger than I had expected. And filled with books. Each wall were occupied by large bookshelves of dark wood. Helpful handwritten signs told me where I could find romance, historical fiction, thrillers, biographies, erotica, fantasy, contemporary, mystery and horror. This was really quite the professional place. Quite the library. 

“Wow,” I said as I quickly walked over to the thriller-shelf. Once again, I was vain. Once again, I just had to check and see if my own book was hiding somewhere on the shelf. 

But after a quick search, I had to accept that ‘Helena Frost’ was not one of the authors displayed on the shelf. To my surprise, I didn’t really feel disappointed. I actually felt sort of relieved. Being confronted with my three books reminded me of what I failure I was. The fact that I hadn’t written anything worth showing for two years. And maybe I never would again. Maybe the writer’s block would continue for the rest of my life. If that was the case, I would have to find something else to do with my life. I couldn’t just sit on my arse and stare at the laptop while hoping for the best. Perhaps I could get my old job back at the paper. Weren’t they looking for a new editor in chief? Perhaps I should apply. Yes. That was exactly what I should do. Abandon all the silly dreams about travelling far away and finally taking control over my life. I was thirty five and fully recovered. I couldn’t keep hiding behind what had happened. However harsh it sounded, I couldn’t keep hiding behind the victim role. There was a time where I had been a strong and confident woman. And I wanted to find my way back to her. I wanted to find the old Helena Frost. 

I ran my fingertip over the many book-spines on display. Some of the titles had little notes attached to them. Keywords that fitted the story. Or personal recommendations like ‘this one is very good’, or ‘this one will put a smile on your face’ and ‘Tiny particularly enjoyed this one.’ That made me smile. Christie clearly included her dog in the recommendations. That was kind of sweet. Quirky but definitely sweet. 

Thinking about it, where WAS Christie? I strained my ears and listened. I couldn’t hear anything or anyone. Maybe she wasn’t here yet. Maybe she had forgotten to lock up before leaving last night. If that was the case, I was the closest thing you could find to a burglar. Ooops. Perhaps I should just quietly take off before anyone discovered I was here. But then I remembered the reason I was here. The book I had to collect for my grandma. The Pearl Sister by Lucinda Riley. Grandma had spoken very passionately about it during breakfast, and I had smiled because I recognized that kind of excitement. She was the one I had inherited my love of books from. Neither of my parents were particularly bookish. But grandma was. My earliest memory was sitting on her lap and listening to the book she was reading to me. Which had been ‘The Velveteen Rabbit’. A treasured favorite I had read so many times it literally had fallen apart. And I had never come across quite the same edition. Perhaps I was picky, but my childhood edition of the book had had such beautiful illustrations. Reading a different version with different illustrations would not be the same. I would continue my search. And who knows, maybe I would find it one day. But back to the task that had been appointed to me. I headed over to the ‘historical fiction’ shelf to search for Lucinda Riley. It didn’t take me long to find it, but there was a gap between The Shadow Sister and The Moon Sister where The Pearl Sister was supposed to be. It wasn’t there. Christie would have to have it stored away somewhere. Keeping it safe for my grandmother, exactly like gran had said earlier this morning. Oh. She most likely had it in some kind of office, but I couldn’t just blunder in there without her knowledge. That would definitely feel like some kind of breaking and entering. It would feel like if someone waltzed into my home if I weren’t there. I would just have to wait then. And it wasn’t like I would be bored or anything. How could I possibly be when surrounded by books? 

The Storybook Nook had many books to offer. My browsing through told me that this place specialized in romance, contemporary and historical fiction, and cozy mysteries. It was only the shelves with thrillers and horror that seemed to lack slightly. The shelves looked a bit... empty. Hmm. How odd. Maybe this store simply didn’t specialize in thrillers and horror. Or maybe the customers had loaned the books. I still found that to be very unusual. A book café that let you loan the books. But then again, the entire book café was unusual. The concept was unusual. And here in Scotland of all places. A tiny book café nestled between mountains and water. I wondered how the business was going. Was it even possible to run a book café here? Or was I just being a big cynical Scrooge-type? I ran a fingertip over the spines once more. Maybe I was cynical, but I refused to believe that this cozy little place could run smoothly. It had to be tough, running a book café in the Scottish highlands. 

But it was difficult not to be captured by the ambience this place held. In many ways it was like stepping into the past. The whole place radiated vintage with the wine-red carpets, dark bookshelves, and smoky grey wallpaper. This place said a lot about the person owning it, I thought to myself as I plucked one of the books out of the shelf. ‘All The Flowers in Paris’ by Sarah Jio. I had never read that one. I actually hadn’t read that many books lately. I had been too busy watching Netflix and HBO. Drinking liters of decaf and wallowing in self-pity. I turned the book over to look at the back. This novel was about a woman waking up in the hospital with absolutely no memories of who she was, but gradually learning that she lived a reclusive, lonely life in a huge apartment in Paris. I scoffed to myself. Apart from the Paris setting, that sounded awfully familiar. I kept reading. Somehow this woman, Caroline’s story was tied to the story of a young mother, Celine who ran a flower store during the second world war. That sounded like proper historical fiction to me. And quite good really. Maybe I would have to loan this book. Maybe this little holiday was a good time for me to finally catch up on my reading. I couldn’t call myself an author when I didn’t read. I weighted the book in my hand. Yes, perhaps I would actually borrow this. I could already see my grandmother and myself sitting in her little living room and reading together whilst the flames flickered merrily in the fireplace. That could be quite cozy. Some bonding time for us. I’d like that. And I knew that grandma would too. There was that niggling guilt again. It didn’t matter that I was here now. I had neglected to visit her in the past, and now I felt terrible about it. I had been a terrible granddaughter to her. And she of course had never mentioned anything. She had only mentioned the many, many times she had bragged of me to her friends. 

I scoffed again. There wasn’t much to brag about these days, really. 

“Yes, that one is quite good. I recommend it.”

I yelped and dropped the book on the floor. It landed on the carpet with a soft thud, and I managed to nearly stumble over it as I turned around. My grandmother was right. Christie Rose Starling did indeed have the ability to appear out of nowhere. She was literally standing right behind me. “Christ!” I exclaimed, pressing a hand to my chest in an attempt to stall my rapid breathing. 

Christie frowned for a second as though she was confused. She appeared to be scanning my face and then her expression changed. “I am sorry,” she said softly in that particular Scottish accent that sounded more like singing than talking. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“It’s fine,” I said automatically even though she actually had scared me quite a bit. She was still looking at me, and I looked back at her. She was wearing an oversized white sweater that slid down her left shoulder, black leggings, and red knitted socks. Her red hair had been tied into a long braid that brushed her lower back. I was suddenly oddly reminded of an elf or something. Couldn’t quite explain why. Maybe it was her slightly pointy years and freckled face. Or maybe it was the fact that the sweater she was wearing was too big for her. She looked even tinier than she had been yesterday. Once again, I felt that.... ‘something’ when I looked at her. And once again, I couldn’t explain why that was. I didn’t even know her. 

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Christie asked, and as on cue, Tiny The Enormous Dog appeared by her side. 

“I’m here to pick up a book for my grandmother. The-“

“The Pearl Sister,” Christie interrupted. “Yes, of course. If you give me a moment, I’ll find it for you.” She disappeared out of room, and I shook my head in an attempt to make the unreasonable thoughts go away. What on earth was the matter with me? Maybe I had been alone for too long. Been cooped up alone in my apartment for too long. It was probably good for me to get a change of scenery and meet other people. The loneliness had clearly crept into my head. 

Christie wasn’t gone for longer than ten seconds. Tiny was once again by her side as she came through the door with a book wedged under her arm. “There we are,” she said and looked at a point above my head rather than looking at me when she handed me the book. 

“Thank you,” I said and took the book from her. 

Christie frowned as she looked at the book I had dropped on the floor. She swiftly bent down and picked it up. Brushed over it with the sleeve of her sweater. 

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly and actually felt guilty. Christie looked so disapproving as she wiped the book. 

“It’s alright,” she said but her facial expression did not match the reassurance. She looked as though I had offended the book by dropping it on the floor. “How do you find Shieldaig?” she asked. Her voice was a bit monotone. Like the question had somehow been rehearsed. 

“I like it,” I said truthfully. “It’s so quiet here. Not at all like London.”

“No.” 

The short reply left me slightly stumped, but I still continued: “I can’t remember the last time I had such a quiet morning.” 

“That sounds nice. I like quiet mornings. Although this morning wasn’t this quiet.”

“What happened?” I asked curiously. For some reason, I was eager to strike up a conversation with Christie Rose Starling. 

“I found an injured leveret in the garden and had to patch it up.”

I blinked. Christie announced that she had found a baby hare and rescued it like it was the most natural thing in the world. An everyday thing. I chuckled. 

“Why are you laughing?” Christie asked plainly and looked at me. 

Once again, she managed to completely surprise me. “Sorry,” I said as I immediately scolded my features into something more serious. 

But Christie seemed genuinely confused and not annoyed as she looked at me. Well, not directly. From what I could judge, she was looking at my nose now. “Did I say something funny?” she asked. 

“No, it’s just... rescuing a baby hare is not exactly something you do every day,” I explained. 

“Oh. Would you like a bag for your books?”

“Oh, uhm... sure. Yes. That would be great.”

“Follow me then.” she turned around and left the room full of books with Tiny by her side, and after having recovered from her abrupt leave, I followed her. 

Back in the café itself, Christie found a brown paper bag she stuffed the two books into. “You have to return them within a week. If something happens to them or you accidentally loose one or both of them, please come down to the store so we can talk about it,” she said mechanically.

“Alright. Got it.” 

She frowned again. For a moment she appeared to be trying to remembering something. Then she flashed me a slow, hesitant smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like a piece of cake?”

“No thank you, it’s a bit too early for me to have cake. But I might come here to write tomorrow,” it popped out of me. I hadn’t even considered it before I said it. 

“Airight, but there’s no Wi-Fi here,” Christie informed me and smiled a little as Tiny came trotting up beside her and yawned. 

“That’s fine,” I assured even though I was surprised. How many stores or café´s didn’t have Wi-Fi these days? 

“Well then.” she handed me the brown paper bag containing the two books. “I hope you’ll enjoy the book. Please tell your grandmother I said hello.”

“I’ll do that.” My grandma was quite fond of Christie, and I could easily see why. “I think she would like you to come over for dinner sometimes soon,” I heard myself say. 

“We’ll see,” Christie said softly. “I have many things to do here.” 

I took the book bag from her finally. “Thanks for the books.”

She frowned. “There’s no reason to thank me, this is what I- oh.” She shook her head. “That was rhetorical, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” I nodded. 

“I see.” A faint blush rose in her fair cheeks and she fiddled with her sweater sleeve. 

I didn’t really know what to say. It was getting a bit awkward, but then the door to the book café was opened and an elderly gentleman entered. 

“Mr. Jensen!” Christie called, clearly relieved. But whether it was because he had saved the situation or simply because of his appearance, remained unknown. 

“Chrissie,” he said, looking straight ahead and smiling. He outstretched an arm, clearly searching for something. 

Christie walked around the counter and took Mr. Jensen’s arm. I watched as she slowly guided him through the café. “Right here by the fireplace, Mr. Jensen?” she asked. 

“Yes, thank you, Chrissie. It’s terribly cold outside today.”

“Yes. There’s a step right there. Careful.” She held his arm a little tighter, and I realized that Mr. Jensen was blind. 

I wasn’t sure why, but the sight of Christie helping Mr. Jensen over to one of the plushy chairs warmed my heart in a way I hadn’t felt before. I remembered that I was actually here for a reason. I had to get the book back for my grandmother. She was waiting for it. I pulled myself together and headed towards the door just as Mr. Jensen had asked Christie to find a book for him. 

“I’ll find it,” Christie promised and turned her head, glanced at me. “Goodbye, miss Frost.”

“Helena,” I corrected. “It’s Helena.”

“Helena,” she parroted.

I smiled. There it was again. He-LAY-na. I swear I had never heard anyone pronounce my name quite like that. I sort of wanted her to say it again, but when I couldn’t come up with a proper reason for her to say it, I ended up saying: “I hope the leveret will be okay.”

“I’m sure she will. Have a nice day.” 

“You too.” 

“Thank you.” She disappeared abruptly once more. Out back to find the book for Mr. Jensen. Her abnormally large dog followed her, and I finally left the book café and went outside in the cold weather.


	15. Christie 1st of December

1st of December, Shieldaig 08:00

Christie

As soon as Helena Frost had left the book café with her two books, I turned around and looked at the clock on the wall. Tick-tick-tick. Not enough time had passed. I was anxiously waiting for Jennie to call me. Or rather, call the store. She had promised to call and give an update on how Marilla was doing. I hoped she was going to be okay. Jenny had looked a little concerned when I handed the hare over to her, so maybe Marilla’s injuries were worse than what I had assumed. But I was optimistic. If anyone could make Marilla feel better, it was Jenny. She was such a good veterinarian. And funny too. When I came into the clinic with the leveret in my arms, she had laughed and called me ‘Snow White’. At first, I hadn’t understood why she was laughing, but then she had explained to me that it was because of my habit of bringing injured animals to her clinic. Then I had understood why it was funny, and I had laughed along with her even though she wasn’t completely right. I hadn’t brought a bunch of injured animals to her clinic like she had made it sound like. I had only brought in two, but that hardly made me Snow White. 

I hadn’t addressed it, though. Sometimes it was easier to just laugh at a joke rather than pick it apart. 

I wrung my hands as I kept my gaze fixed on the clock. Tick-tick-tick. When would Jennie call me? This was one of the rare moments where I wished that I’d owned a cellphone. Then she could have texted me to let me know how Marilla was doing. But that was the only reason I’d be interested in owning a cellphone. 

You’re obsessing over time, Christie, I informed myself. I had to be careful not to zone out while working. Time to find something else to look at. 

I turned around and ended up looking out of the window. At the sky, to be more precise. The sky was cornflower blue. For some reason, I was reminded of Helena Frost’s eyes. The shade of her eyes almost matched the color the sky was today. 

And why was I suddenly thinking about Helena Frost’s eyes? Maybe because her visit to the book café had taken me by surprise. I didn’t like surprises. I had expected Mollie. Not her granddaughter. And I wasn’t sure what to do with the dinner invitation from Mollie either. I wasn’t sure if I felt up for that. Helena Frost was a stranger, and interacting with strangers was always so stressful for me. If I went to the dinner and spent the night interacting with Helena, I would be completely beat the next day. I would find the simplest tasks to be difficult, and that would be a bad thing considering that I owned a book café. But if Mollie really wanted me to come over for dinner, I could ask her if the dinner could be held on a Saturday. That way I could spend the Sunday ‘recovering’ and reading. 

“Maybe that’s what I’ll do,” I told Tiny. 

His ears lifted, and he tilted his head adorably. 

“You’re a big goofball,” I said.

“Ruff,” said Tiny and his tail started beating against the floor. 

I crouched down and started scratching behind his ear. He reacted by rolling over and presenting his belly to me. 

“Alright, alright. I can take a hint,” I assured him and started to scratch his belly instead. He made that particular ‘humming’ sound he always made when he was feeling happy. It could almost be mistaken for growling, and it had been mistaken for growling a few times, but I knew better. I knew that he was simply showing how happy he was. Tiny was such a gentle creature. He would never growl to threaten. He had done it a few times as a puppy, but that had just been in a playful manner. Same with nipping. He had only done that as a puppy, and always in a playful manner. There had never been a moment where he had shown his teeth in a threatening manner. 

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Tiny?” I asked him. 

He yawned loudly and licked his nose. 

I chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Mr. Jensen chuckled too from his chair near the fireplace. “He’s in a good mood today.”

“He sure is. He just rolled onto his back and wants me to scratch his belly,” I told Mr. Jensen. He liked when I described what Tiny did. I had a feeling that he missed having a dog. His seeing eye dog, Gulliver had recently died of old age. I hoped it was only a matter of time before Mr. Jensen would get himself a new dog. He was so fond of dogs. 

Mr. Jensen laughed and patted his thigh once. Tiny’s ears perked up and I sent him off with a: “go see what Mr. Jensen has for you!” I knew for a fact that Mr. Jensen had a biscuit for Tiny in his pocket. He always did.

Tiny got on his paws and trotted over to Mr. Jensen who reached out and patted his furry head. 

I too got up from the floor. Brushed a hand over my sweater. I was about to head into the backroom to do some more tidying up in there, but I was prevented from doing so when the door opened, and a mother followed by who I assumed was her daughter. The mother looked a bit stressed, a bit worn out. Maybe she’d had a rough morning. She was wearing an expensive looking grey coat and her dark hair looked to be very professionally styled. She had to be a tourist. Couldn’t be anything else. Her daughter had dark eyes and pigtails and looked to be eight or nine years old.

I flashed them my kindest smile when they walked up to the desk. “Good morning and welcome to The Storybook Nook,” I said, giving the speech I had memorized years ago. “How can I help you today?” I hadn’t seen her before, but I wanted her to feel welcome. Every customer coming into my book café was automatically a friend of mine. 

“A cup of coffee would be lovely,” she said, eyes wandering to the espresso machine. 

I nodded, felt a twinge of anxiety. That stupid espresso machine again. Maybe I should just get rid of it and to serve tea only. “Would you like a slice of pie too?” I offered. 

“Hmm,” the mother seemed to consider it. I tried my best to decipher her expression as she looked around at the cakes and pies on display. Then she turned to her daughter. “We’re not really supposed to have cake before lunch, are we Flora? But I suppose-“

“Blueberry pie!” Flora cried. “I want blueberry pie, mummy!”

“Alright, alright,” the mother laughed. She turned to me once more. “Two slices of blueberry pie and one espresso, please.” 

“Coming right up,” I promised. “A book to go with it?”

“Well-“

“Do you have anything with dragons?” Flora interrupted and looked up at me with sparkling eyes. 

“Flora, darling. It’s not nice to interrupt,” the mother scolded, but the wheels in my head was turning. Flora wanted to read a book that had dragons in it. 

“I do actually,” I told her and smiled. “If you guys go and find a table, I’ll be right down with your pie and book.”

“And espresso,” the mother reminded me. 

“And the espresso,” I nodded. 

The mother and Flora turned around and sat down in two of the plushy, cozy chairs near the fireplace. The mother was making herself comfortable. Unbuttoning her coat and tugging off her gloves. But   
Flora didn’t stay seated for long. Before I had even left my place behind the counter, she had reached me and asked: “can I play with the doggy?”

Oh. Of course she had spotted Tiny laying on the floor. “You can,” I said. “As long as you remember to say his name before you pet him, so he doesn’t get scared.”

“I will,” she promised. “And what’s his name?” 

“Tiny.”

“Tiny,” she repeated and giggled as she walked over to Tiny. She said his name like I had told her to and then giggled again. Most likely because of his name. 

Helena Frost had been amused by that too. I suppose Tiny’s name was funny now that I was big, but he had been well... tiny when I got him. When she put him in my arms for the first time. 

Her. Her. Her... 

No! I shook my head firmly. Not today. Today was a good day. I wasn’t gonna bring myself down and be sad today. Of course not all my memories of her were sad, but still, it was so easy to get sad when thinking about her. I had a job to do. Provide young Flora with a book about dragons. I could do that. 

I turned around and hurried upstairs. Zig-zagged in between the shelves until I reached the children’s books section. I knew exactly what I was looking for. The Girl Who Drank The Moon by Kelly Regan Barnhill. I loved that story, and it featured one of my favorite dragons ever. I just had a feeling that Flora would like this story. 

I plucked the book out of the shelf. Brushed over it quickly with the sleeve of my sweater just to make sure it wasn’t dusty or anything. It had been quite a while since anybody had read it. 

When I came back downstairs with the book wedged under my arm, Vanessa had arrived. With a giant plastic bag filled with....

“Christmas stuff!” she happily announced and grinned. 

“’Christmas stuff’?” I echoed skeptically whilst eyeing the over-filled bag in her arms. 

“Yes! It’s December 1st, and the book café hasn’t been transformed to a Christmas wonderland yet, Christie!” Vanessa looked like that was a scandal. 

“I did not know that was required,” I mumbled. Vanessa was behaving very enthusiastic. Sometimes I forgot that she was only sixteen and not yet an adult no matter how much she wanted to be. She was   
still young enough to get excited about Christmas.

“Of course it’s required!” she insisted. “We should also get a Christmas tree! A fake one, I mean. To make it more cozy! I’m tellin’ you, if we get this place decked out for Christmas, it’ll attract way more tourists.” 

“Hmm.” Perhaps she had a point. Perhaps ‘decking this place out for Christmas’ wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It WAS December after all. And... she had loved Christmas. It had been her favorite holiday.   
She had started in the middle of November. Had decked out the house with all kinds of Christmas stuff. It wouldn’t be right to not get this place ready for Christmas. She would have been disappointed. 

“Alright,” I told Vanessa. “Let’s do it.”

“Seriously? You’re the best, Christie!”

Her enthusiasm made me smile. It spurred me on. “You know what, I think we should start right now. That is, as soon as I’ve served these customers. Do you think you could make an espresso?”

“Consider it done,” Vanessa said briskly, skipping over to said machine. 

“Thank you,” I said automatically but silently wondered. Why did people say ‘consider it done’ when they hadn’t actually done it yet? It didn’t make any sense to me. But now was not the time to wonder about what expressions people used and did not use. I sliced two pieces of the blueberry pie and brought that and the book over to Flora and her mother. 

“There we are,” I said. “Two slices of blueberry pie and one book.” I handed Flora ‘The Girl Who Drank The Moon’, and she was immediately intrigued by the cover. “You’re welcome to loan it for a week,” I told her and then turned to the mother. “The espresso will be coming up shortly.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “What a lovely, unusual place you’ve got here.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“It’s almost like it’s magical!” Flora piped up. “I’ve never been to a book café before!”

“Not many people have,” I said. I was well aware that there weren’t many of these combined coffee houses/ bookstores. And for a good reason. It was a struggle to making ends meet. I was honestly worried about the future, but I refused to fully acknowledge it until after the new year’s. I had to rely on the tourists that normally came to Shieldaig during the holiday. Hopefully, this December would be a good one. 

As on cue, Vanessa came over with the espresso, and the mother looked like she had just saved her life. She thanked us both, and as mother and daughter delved into their pies and coffee and book, Vanessa and I took our leave. 

Vanessa shook the big bag of ‘Christmas stuff’ and grinned at me. 

“Yes, let’s see what’s in the bag,” I said briskly, already making plans in my head. My friend Julie was coming over from Edinburgh the day after tomorrow, and I would like to be able to show her a fully decorated place when she arrived. She too loved Christmas. 

We maneuvered the big bag into the backroom, and as Vanessa started pulling items out of the bag, I quietly started to realize that there was a chance that I might be in over my head...

I felt pretty ‘roasted’ by the time I made it back home to my little cottage. Roasted but happy. Vanessa and I had been very productive, and the customers had found it very cozy that we decorated the place while they were there. 

Today had definitely been a good day at work, but I was also happy to be back home in the quiet. The first thing I did was changing into my oversized jogging bottoms and one of her old t-shirts. The one with the ‘I Like Big Books And I Cannot Lie’ slogan across the chest. That had been her favorite shirt. Now it was mine, but tonight it did not hurt to wear it. Tonight I felt calm and relaxed. 

In the bedroom, I smiled at her picture. “Today has been a really good one,” I told her. “Vanessa and I have decorated the place nicely, but I’m sure you already know that.” Of course she did. Of course she had been watching from somewhere. 

Tiny came into the bedroom to me, and I was grateful. Maybe I would have ended up staring at her picture for too long if he hadn’t. But now I turned my head and smiled at him. “You know what I think?”

He tilted his head. 

“I think tonight is a Midsomer Murders and knit night. Come on!”

Together we left the bedroom. Went back downstairs and ended in the living room. Tiny on the rug, laying completely stretched out, and me on the sofa. I switched on the television. The DVD was still sitting in the machine after last time, so I just chose the next episode. That was the easiest thing to do. I felt too tired to find a different one. As the beginning of the episode rolled around, I picked up my knit work. The mittens were coming along nicely. The yarn was bright red, Mollie’s favorite color. I hoped she would like the mittens. She always had such cold hands, and I wanted to help her with that. By making these mittens so bright, there was a chance that she would never misplace them. 

Tiny yawned, and I hummed back in response because I knew that it was almost his dinner time. And mine. But first a bit of relaxation. I had deserved that after the effort I had made today. I reminded myself to tell Vanessa thank you tomorrow. And I also had to stop by Jennie’s clinic tomorrow morning before work. The little hare was feeling better but needed a place to recuperate, and Jennie’s clinic was overbooked, so....

“We can take care of Marilla for a little while, can’t we, Tiny?” I asked aloud as the knitting needles moved swiftly between my fingers. 

“Ruff!” 

I took that as a yes.


	16. Helena 2nd of December

2nd of December, Shieldaig 03:24 PM

Helena

I made sure to hold on tight to grandma’s arm as we slowly made our way down the little street. The path was icy, and she wasn’t as quick on her feet as she once had been. She was the one who had insisted that we went for a walk in the beautiful weather. I had tried to protest. Not because I didn’t want to go for a walk, but because her knuckles were so swollen and looked very sore. I feared what the crisp weather would do to her arthritis, but she had been unyielding. And so we had gone for a walk. She wanted me to have a ‘proper’ look at Shieldaig as she said. 

We had a very nice time yesterday. After my visit to The Storybook Nook, we had been sitting in her cozy little living room and read. Side by side. She had read the next book in The Seven Sisters series, and I had read All The Flowers In Paris. The one Christie had recommended to me, and I had to admit that she had been pretty spot on with her recommendation. I was usually very picky and particular when it came to books, but this one was quite moving and engaging. I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time I was stopping by The Storybook Nook. I hadn’t written a word yesterday, but maybe that was okay. As my grandmother said: the stories would still be there tomorrow. She had a point. I actually hadn’t even though about writing yesterday. And- as horrible as it was- that had been great. 

My mind had been focused on reading instead of writing, and I had a distinct feeling that was good for me. Maybe I was making it up, but it felt like some of my stress was disappearing already. After a week here, I would be a brand-new person. 

We stopped along the way and chatted to one of grandma’s friends for a couple of minutes. Margaret, her name was. She and my grandma played cards together and stopped by each other’s places all the time to eat together or have a glass of wine. They had been friends for the twenty years my grandma had lived in Shieldaig.

“Helena,” Margaret said warmly. “It is lovely to see you again.”

“It’s lovely to see you too, Margaret. It’s been too long.”

“It truly has,” Margaret tutted at me in that particular way elderly ladies sometimes did. “You young people are so busy nowadays.” 

I suffocated a smile. At thirty five, I didn’t feel particularly young, but I appreciated that I was still young in Margaret’s eyes. 

“How are you, dear?” Margaret asked and looked at me thoroughly. “You look well.”

“I feel well, thank you, Margaret. Everything is going according to the plan.” 

Grandma squeezed my hand. 

“You have a strong granddaughter, Mollie,” Margaret said warmly.

“I do indeed, Maggie,” she nodded. “Helena’s always been strong. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Grandma,” I protested and shook my head. “You’re embarrassing me now.”

Both my grandmother and Margaret chuckled. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Helena, dear,” Margaret insisted. “How long will you be staying in Shieldaig?”

“For the week. Then I have to get back to London.”

“Of course. You are probably in the midst of writing a new novel, aren’t you?”

“Well, I-“

“Helena is taking a little break currently,” grandma interrupted, and I was really quite grateful for that. 

“How sensible,” Margaret smiled. “You can’t rush writing a novel, can you?”

“No, you cannot.” My agent would probably disagree with that statement. He had tried to call me once yesterday, but I hadn’t picked up. And that had felt devilishly good, ignoring his call. He knew that I   
was on holiday. The official explanation was that I was gathering information for a new novel up here. He had to settle with that. And I had to come up with some kind of storyline that was not like Agatha Christie’s ‘And Then There Were None’. 

“Well, I have a roast in the oven,” Margaret said. “So I should get that to that, but I will see you on the 4th, won’t I, Mollie?” 

“Oh yes, of course,” my grandmother assured and flashed her friend a smile. 

“Bring Helena if she fancies. But perhaps she will prefer to visit the pub instead?”

“We’ll see,” I smiled. A visit to the local pub. Yes, why not? I couldn’t remember the last time I had visited a bar. I had mostly spent my time huddled up on the couch watching Netflix and doing anything I   
could to forget that I was miserable. 

“That’s an idea, dear,” grandma said briskly once we had said goodbye to Margaret. “You should spend time with young people like yourself.”

“I came here to spend time with you,” I reminded her and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. 

“I know that, dear, but it doesn’t harm to see other people, does it? At least promise me that you’ll think about it.”

“I promise.”

We slowly continued out walk. Now and then grandma stopped by one of the lit up windows and commented on the things on display. “It’s about time I start the Christmas shopping,” grandma said. 

“It’s only December 2nd, gran,” I reminded her and chuckled lightly. 

“Still, one might just as well get started. If I get it done quickly, I have all the time in the world to enjoy the rest of December,” she said sensibly and squeezed my arm once more. “Do you have any plans   
for Christmas, dear?”

“Lisa mentioned that she might fly out from Florida to spend Christmas in London,” I said. “So perhaps I’ll spend Christmas with her.”

“And what about your parents?”

I shrugged. “They will be heading out on one of their cruises the 17th. I think they’re going to Caribbean this year. They won’t be back until after New Year’s eve.”

“Bastards.”

“Grandma!” I protested but laughed at the same time. 

“Christmas is about family,” she huffed and ignored my protest. “Not sailing off and leave their daughter to celebrate Christmas on her own.”

“They’ve been through a lot of things too, gran,” I gently reminded her. “You know that. My mum never left my side. She barely slept. I think they’ve deserved this. They’ve deserved to get some time off and relax.”

“Of course. But not on Christmas. There are plenty of cruises in January as well.” 

I held my tongue and said nothing. She was right. There were plenty of cruises in January. And now I wondered why they had to choose the Christmas cruise. Was it because of me? Was I really that much   
of a party pooper? Perhaps. I had spent last Christmas pretending to smile even though I felt horrible for reasons I didn’t understand. And the previous Christmas I had mostly been asleep. I had been exhausted because of everything. 

“If the appointment with Lisa falls through, you are more than welcome to celebrate Christmas here, dear,” grandma said and interrupted my musings. “With Margaret and I. It’ll be a quiet Christmas, but it’ll be a good one too. It usually is. We play games and drink mulled wine.”

“I have to get home,” I said, repeating the mantra I had used since arriving here. But honestly, the mantra was starting to sound rather hollow in my ears. Why was it that I had to get back to London asap? I had nobody waiting for me there. And I was sure I was already way more relaxed here than I had been in London. 

“Think about it, dear,” grandma insisted. “And let’s turn left here.”

Slowly and steadily, we continued our walk through Shieldaig. But the daylight was rapidly dwindling, and the air was getting colder. I worried about my grandmother’s sore, swollen knuckles, so I said: “don’t you think it would be better to head back now, grandma?” 

“In a moment, dear. We just have to make it to the corner.” She lifted a wrinkled hand and pointed. “I always walk to the corner and back.”

“Very well then.” I suffocated my amusement. God forbid I should try and change my grandmother’s routines. She probably would not appreciate that. 

And so we walked towards the corner. Grandma still stopped at every window to take a peek at the Christmas décor. Without letting go of her arm, I tugged the collar on my coat up. “It’s getting colder,” I commented. 

“Oh yes. I think we can expect more snow tonight,” grandma replied. “Perhaps we’ll wind up getting snowed in.”

“I hope not,” I chuckled. “That wouldn’t be good.” 

Grandma shrugged. “We’ve got plenty of food in the fridge, dear. Plenty of firewood in the shed. I believe we could cope.” 

Yes, perhaps we could. Perhaps I simply needed to stop panicking about the prospect of getting stuck here. Shieldaig was a beautiful place. Mountains and water. And again, I didn’t have much of a reason to hurry back to London. It was nice to reconnect with my grandmother. It was easy to remember why she always had been my favorite person. I was definitely closer with her than I was with my parents.   
Odd perhaps, but I had always felt like grandma truly understood me when my parents did not. And she always took her time to listen to me when I was upset or just needed to talk. And of course she had been the first person I had seen when I opened my eyes in the white room two years ago. Opened my eyes to a changed life. 

As though she could read my mind, grandma gave my arm a gentle squeeze and then pointed at a dress on display in a store. “I think that one would really suit you, dear.”

I looked at the dress. It was midnight blue, long-sleeved and had a slight V-neck. “Yes, perhaps.”

“You should come back tomorrow and buy it,” grandma said. 

“We’ll see. Or maybe I can put it on my wish list for Christmas,” I quipped. 

“Oh yes, that’s a good idea. Come now, dear, let’s walk a bit faster. This tempo is making my old bones go cold.”

“Wait up,” I protested and laughed when she suddenly quickened her pace. Sometimes my grandma thought that she was still twenty one. So quick on her feet. So eager. I could probably learn a lot about being happy from my grandmother. She had so much spirit and joy inside of her. 

On the corner of the street, we found The Storybook Nook of course, and grandma exclaimed in delight upon peering through the window. 

I followed her curious gaze and immediately understood why she had exclaimed. The Storybook Nook had turned into a Christmas wonderland during the night. There was tree in the corner. Most likely made of plastic, but still fully decorated and everything. Delicate Christmas ornaments had been hung in every window, and I could see stockings hanging by the chimney. My gaze lingered by the window, and I chuckled to myself. The Christmas enthusiasts had gone all out and had even sprayed the bottom of the windows with fake snow to give it a sort of frosty effect. The Christmas tree had been draped in fairy lights and upon every table was a Christmas decoration complete with candle and everything. And then of course elves had popped up everywhere overnight. It did not matter which corner I looked in. There would always be an elf looking back at me. To be honest, I had always found elves to be slightly eerie, but I had to admit that these were cute. 

“How wonderful!” grandma said warmly and chuckled. “Christie has decorated for Christmas this year!”

“Didn’t she do that last year?” I asked. 

“Oh.” Grandma’s smile faltered slightly. “No, not so much.”

I raised an eyebrow. Perhaps I called myself an author, but I had been a journalist once, and as a journalist, it had been my job to be curious. I could sense that there was a story behind my grandmother’s slightly faltering smile. “Why is that?” I asked curiously. “That she didn’t decorate for Christmas last year, I mean?”

“Ah, there’s Christie!” grandma exclaimed as the door opened and Christie indeed stepped outside with Tiny. 

Saved by the bell, I thought to myself. It was obvious that my grandmother did not want to answer the question. I wondered why that was. I hadn’t seemed that nosey, had I? It had just been an innocent question, really. There was definitely a story there, but for now I let it go and looked at Christie instead. She was wearing a bottle green camel coat and her flaming red hair had been tugged away under a red bobble hat with a pom-pom. She was holding a big Christmas wreath in one hand whilst seemingly holding onto a bundle with her other. She attempted to put the Christmas wreath onto the door while still holding on to the bundle. That looked terribly difficult. One could wonder why she didn’t just put the bundle down. But she kept holding on. Kept struggling. After a moment, the Christmas wreath escaped her grasp and landed on the snow covered ground with a slight thud. Tiny began sniffing at it.

Christie looked positively defeated at this development. Then she crouched down to grab the Christmas wreath. Still while holding onto the bundle with her other hand. Tiny was of little help in the matter. He seemed more interested in sniffing her cheek. 

“Tiny, no,” Christie protested and let out a soft chuckle. “You’re not making this any easier for me, you silly goop.”

“Oh dear,” grandma said and shook her head a little. “That looks terribly difficult. Do you need a hand, Christie, dear?”

Christie’s head snapped up. She clearly hadn’t seen or heard us. “No that’s alright, I got it,” she said in that particular singing Scottish manner and gave a close mouthed smile. 

She clearly didn’t, though, and grandma looked like she was on the brink of crouching down to help her. I knew what that kind of movement would do to her already challenged knees. To avoid any disasters happening, I quickly crouched down next to Christie in the snow. We reached for the Christmas wreath at the same time. Her gloves were quite soft, but I immediately noted that she pulled her hand away. 

I pretended not to notice and handed the Christmas wreath to her with a smile and a: “Here you go.” 

“Thank you.” She stretched a hand out to take it from me, but the bundle resting on her other arm suddenly wiggled, and that’s when I noticed that it wasn’t a bundle at all. It was a small animal wrapped in multiple blankets. I caught the faintest glimpse of the hare’s big ears and black pearl eyes before it burrowed further into the blankets and Christie’s arms and disappeared. 

“Oh,” I said. “Is that the leveret you talked about?” 

“Aye,” Christie said shortly and adjusted the little animal in her arms as she stood from her crouching position. She reached for the Christmas wreath, but I kept holding onto it as I too rose from the awkward position. 

“I don’t think you can do both,” I said to her. 

“What do you mean?”

“Your arms seems plenty occupied already,” I clarified, nodding to the leveret. 

“Oh.” Christie looked like she hadn’t thought about that. A tiny wrinkle appeared between her eyes. 

“I can hang the wreath on the door,” I offered. “If you tell me where you want it.”

“There’s a little nail on the door,” Christie said. “Right in the middle.”

“Right. Got it.” I quickly spotted said nail which was indeed right in the middle. I fumbled with the large wreath for a moment and once sure it was hanging securely, I took a step back and admired my work. “There. That looks nice.” 

“Maybe it’s a bit too big,” Christie mused as she held the leveret a bit closer. 

Technically, she was right about that. The Christmas wreath was most definitely big, but...

“It looks lovely, Christie,” my grandmother said and then bowed her head to look at the bundle of blankets in Christie’s arms. “And who might this little fella be?”

“It’s a girl,” Christie corrected. “Her name is Marilla. She’s gonna stay with me for a little while until her wound is healed. There wasn’t room in Jennie’s clinic.” She said all this very fast and it was a little difficult to keep up, but my grandmother nodded and smiled. 

“Then it’s good you could take care of her,” she said softly and lifted the blankets slightly to peer at the little animal. “Hello there.”

The leveret’s tiny nose vibrated. 

“Did you just pick her up?” I asked curiously. 

“No, I collected her from the clinic this morning.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve had her in the book café with you all the time?” that didn’t sound very practical. 

“Aye,” Christie said and shrugged. “Jennie borrowed me a cage and some food. Vanessa was so sweet and take it back to my place for me.”

“Looks to me that she prefers this over a cage,” grandma observed and chuckled. 

Christie smiled a little. 

I was intrigued. And surprised. It was impressive that this wild animal put up with being in Christie’s arms. And I was impressed by Tiny’s behavior too. He didn’t even try and sniff it. Didn’t even seem interested in it. His attention was solely on Christie. 

“I should get going,” Christie said. “It’s not good for Marilla to be outside in this cold. She needs rest so her wound can heal.” she looked at my grandmother. Glanced at her glove clad hands. “Be careful, Mollie. It’s so cold today. Those mittens looks very thin.”

Grandma laughed. “We were on our way home, isn’t that right, Helena? We’re going to have a cup of tea and read.”

“That sounds nice,” Christie said and adjusted the leveret in her arms. 

“I’ll be cooking roast tomorrow,” grandma announced. “It would be lovely if you could join us, Christie.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. Julie is coming over from Edinburgh, and I promised to spend the day with her. Well, as much as I can while working.”

“Alright, dear. Perhaps another time then,” grandma said and smiled. “I would so like if you could come over one night.”

“We’ll see,” Christie said and seemed a bit uneasy for a second. But then she returned my grandmother’s smile tenfold. “I better get home with this little one, but I’m sure I’ll see you later. Bye, Mollie. Bye, Helena.” 

“Bye,” I said and watched as she skittered down the icy pavement with the baby hare in her arms and her faithful dog trailing behind her. It almost looked comically. She was so tiny, and her dog was, well.... not. 

“It is lovely to see her smile again,” grandma said and almost sounded a bit melancholic. 

My curiosity reared its head again. “Why wouldn’t she smile?”

Unfortunately, that made my grandmother snap out of whatever thoughts she had been in. “Goodness how late it’s getting,” she chirped and took my arm again. “Come on, Helena, dear. Let’s get back home. It’s not good for you to get cold either.”

“Alright then,” I said and bit back my curiosity. For now. Grandma’s attempt at changing the subject was about as subtle as a grenade. There was definitely something there. Some kind of secret or at least something unspoken surrounding Christie Rose Starling. And I wanted to find out what that was. I wanted to know more about Christie. For reasons I didn’t quite understand. 

Grandma tugged lightly at my arm and I took the hint and began moving again. Now I would drink tea with my grandmother. That was how I was gonna spend the remainder of the day. Drinking tea and reading. Not thinking about Christie Rose Starling...


	17. Christie 3rd of December

3rd of December, Shieldaig 09:20 AM

Christie

“Why do I keep letting this place getting so messy?” I asked myself and wrinkled my nose as I let the cloth slide over the shelf. Dark spots were growing on the blue cloth, and I thought to myself that this was the last time I would allow the shelves to get so dirty. It wasn’t because I was lazy or anything. I simply did not notice if and when the shelves got dusty. Good thing I was doing something about it now. 

I dunked the cloth into the bucket. Let it soak for a moment and then gave it a good squeeze to wrench the water out and make sure it didn’t drip all over. Then I proceeded to the next shelf. That one was dirty too. The books that had been in it probably was too. Maybe I should give them a wipe with the cloth too. That could probably be a good idea. 

“Christie?”

My head whipped up at Vanessa’s voice. “Yes?”

“We have a lady who wants to read a story about books,” Vanessa called up the stairs, and I heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice chuckle and apologize for her complicated wish. 

But I did not find it to be a complicated wish at all. ‘The Bookstore on the Shore,’ I called back. 

“Who’s the autho-“

“Jenny Colgan.”

Vanessa laughed. “And do you happen to know where it’s at?”

“Third shelf from the left.”

“Awesome, thank you.”

“Anytime,” I told her and then resumed my task. Cleaning the shelves would probably take a while, but I was okay with that. The shelves deserved a good cleaning. I heard Vanessa come up the stairs. She plucked a book out of one of the shelves and then peered around the corner. She smiled at me. “How’s the cleaning coming along?”

“Slowly and steadily,” I said. “Did you find the book?”

Vanessa held up said book. “Yup.” 

“Great. Is it busy downstairs today?” I asked, concerned. We needed all the customers we could get. Autumn had been a slow season for The Storybook Nook. I had to rely on the tourists visiting Shieldaig for Christmas. God, I hoped there would be lots of them. The money, even though I had done everything in my power to stretch them as much as possible, wouldn’t last forever. 

“Every chair is occupied,” Vanessa smiled. “Everyone’s reading and eating cake. And admiring the Christmas theme. I told you it was a good idea.”

“Yes, you were right,” I acknowledged. Mollie most definitely had seemed delighted when I met her yesterday. 

“And how’s the little patient?” Vanessa continued as she crouched down and gently lifted the scarf covering the cage standing next to me. 

“I think she’s feeling better,” I said, turning my head so I could peer at Marilla. The leveret was still laying down and resting, but she had been on her paws a few times today. She had been eating and drinking like she was supposed so, and as long as that was the case, I was not worried about her. It was really quite cozy having her up here with me since Tiny could not manage the stairs. 

“Awesome,” Vanessa said and carefully tucked the scarf back in place. It was Jennie who had advised me to keep the cage covered. Darkness would make the situation less stressful for Marilla. 

Vanessa disappeared down the stairs, and I continued wiping off the shelves. Right now that was my most important task. Vanessa could easily manage it downstairs for a little while. I needed this time to ‘charge my batteries’ before Julie arrived. Make no mistake, I liked Julie. I liked her a lot. If someone asked me who my best friend was, I would say her name in a heartbeat, but she was a very extroverted person. Very bubbly and happy and outgoing. Over the years, she had definitely tugged me along to quite a few experiences I never would have done otherwise. Fun experiences, but nevertheless experiences that had me exhausted the next day. Still, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Nor would I trade Julie for anything. We had been best friends since second grade. We also went to London together for further education later. She studied to become a lawyer. I studied English literature. Of course. My plan had been to maybe pursue a degree in library science, but things hadn’t quite turned out like that. I was not upset about that, though. The Storybook Nook was everything I could ever have asked for. Julie and I had lived at the same college in London, and even though it had been a fun experience, I wouldn’t do it again. Live in London. Too much noise. Here in Shieldaig, I had found a place where I could breathe. I loved Shieldaig and I did not understand why anyone preferred the big city. I knew that everyone had different opinions, and that I probably just was rigid in mine, but still, I struggled with understanding why anyone would want to wake up to the sight of skyscrapers instead of water and mountains.

Marilla scrabbled around in her cage, and I lifted the scarf a little so I could see what she was up to. She had trotted over to her water bowl. 

“Good girl,” I softly praised. She needed all the fluid she could get, and Jennie had told me to keep an eye on that. If she didn’t drink enough, she would have to go back to the clinic so Jennie could put a drip in her. But with the way she was drinking, it probably wouldn’t be necessary. I was happy about that. 

Marilla looked at me with her black pearly eyes. Her little nose vibrated. I had a feeling she and I would be fine friends before this was over. But of course I had to set her outside when her wound was healed. I knew that. She was a wild animal. She belonged in the nature.

“But for right now, you’re staying with me,” I told Marilla. “And I think we can make it work, don’t you?” 

Marilla responded by nibbling on the piece of carrot laying in her cage.

I chuckled softly to myself as I let the scarf slide back in place so she could get the chance to rest. She needed it. She had been very dehydrated when I brought her to the clinic. Jennie had told me that she probably had scrabbled around in the snow for as much as twelve hours before I found her. She probably wouldn’t have made it if I hadn’t found her. Poor little thing. I was incredibly relieved that I had found her. It would have been terrible if she had succumbed to her injuries. Now she was with me. Cozy and warm and comfortable. Thank god. 

I continued my cleaning of the shelves. My knees were starting to hurt slightly, and I reminded myself to go find a pillow downstairs if I planned on continued for a longer period of time. I heard Vanessa and an unfamiliar man laugh downstairs, and I smiled. I didn’t recognize his voice. He was a new customer. New customers meant money. Not that money was everything, of course it was not. The most important thing was finding the right book for the right person, but without the money, The Storybook Nook wouldn’t be able to survive. Perhaps it wouldn’t anyway. I shivered at the thought. My little book café closing. Our little book café closing. No, that couldn’t happen. I had promised her to keep going no matter what, and I had every intention of keeping that promise. The book café had been our dream, and now it was up to me to keep that dream alive. And I would. No matter what it would cost me. I just wasn’t completely sure how I was supposed to do that. But I would work it out. I had to...

When the end of my workday was coming to an end, and after Vanessa had left, I was back downstairs to tidy up the place. Wipe all the tables one last time. Clean out the fireplace. Check if we needed anything. I knew that we were almost out of blueberry pie. I would have to get up early tomorrow and make some. 

“Tomorrow is gonna be a busy day, Tiny,” I told my dog as he stretched on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

He yawned. 

“Mhmm. I have to bake a pie,” I continued. “And guess what? You’re not allowed to be in the kitchen while I bake.”

Tiny of course paid little attention to my nonsense and treated himself to another satisfying stretch on the rug. 

“Stttttrrreeeech,” I teased him in that high pitched voice that always made him react in some sort of way. Today he reacted by coming over and licking my hand. 

“You big goof, you!”

He gave a short bark and started to wag his tail in excitement. 

“Be careful,” I admonished. “Don’t knock over the Christmas tree. Vanessa won’t like that.” And neither would I. It had only been a day since we put it up. I hadn’t been completely on board with her idea of decorating the place for Christmas, but I had to admit that it had been a good idea. Everyone had commented on how wonderful everything looked. Perhaps the Christmas décor would encourage my customers to stay a little while longer. Order that extra slice of cake and pick up that second book. 

My musings were interrupted when the door to the book café opened. Tiny’s tail started swinging back and forward in that particular way that could only mean one thing. I smiled as I looked up, and sure enough, there she was. Julie. My best friend. She was wearing a blue coat that made her look all puffy. Her chocolate brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. Her grey eyes lit up and her mouth curled up in a smile when she spotted me behind the counter. “Hi, beautiful!” she exclaimed as Tiny started barking. 

“Tiny, be quiet,” I admonished, and in the same breath: “Hey, Julie!”

“Wow, look at this place!” Julie said as she looked around while patting Tiny’s furry head. “It looks amazing, Christie.”

“Thank you.” 

Once done patting Tiny, Julie came over to me. She smiled as she asked: “is today a hugging day?”

“Today is a hugging day,” I said and returned the smile. 

That prompted her to grin rather than smile. “Come here, then!” she insisted as she opened her arms. 

I willingly came over to her, and it didn’t take long before she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze. Exactly how I liked it. Julie gave good hugs too. 

“I’ve missed you, Jules,” I said and used the old nick name I had come up with ages ago. 

“I’ve missed you too, Agatha Christie.”

That had me chuckling into her coat. 

“Oh, it’s good to be back!” Julie said. “Shieldaig will never stop being a great place to come back to.” 

In my mind, Shieldaig wasn’t the kind of place you ever left, but I didn’t tell her that. 

“Do you wanna go for a walk before heading back to your place and have tea?” Julie suggested.

I liked that suggestion. I nodded. “That sounds good, but I have to go home with Marilla first.”

“Marilla?” 

I took her hand, lead her behind the counter where Marilla’s cage was standing now. I carefully lifted the scarf so Julie could see, and she crouched down slightly. Then she chuckled. “Have you adopted a bunny rabbit, Christie?”

“Hare,” I corrected. “And no, I have not. I found her injured in my garden two days ago. Jennie was overbooked at the clinic, so I said that Marilla- the hare- could stay with me while recuperating.”

“Oh, I see. She’s very cute.” Julie tugged the scarf back in place, and I lifted the cage up. It didn’t weigh a lot, but you had to be careful. Otherwise Marilla would tumble around in there, and she probably would not appreciate that. 

“Are you ready to go?” asked Julie. “If you’re not, I can totally chill here with a piece of cake...”

I chuckled. “I am ready to go. Just let me grab my coat.”

“Great. Shall I hold the cage while you do that?”

“Yes, thank you. That would be great.”

I trusted her with the cage and pretended that it did not made me anxious to see someone else be in charge of Marilla’s cage. It would be fine. And it was only for a few minutes. Then I could hold the cage again. I shrugged on my coat, scarf and hat and declared that I was ready to go. Julie flashed me a smile as she handed the cage back to me. Now we were ready to go. Julie took my arm as she always did whenever we hung out together. It had taken me some time to get used to the casual touching, but now it was the most natural thing in the world that Julie of course took my arm. I was certain I would find it stranger if she did not. 

I smiled at my best friend as we left The Storybook Nook together...

“It’s been ages since I last saw you,” Julie said as we left my cottage after having dropped off Marilla. She could take a nap while we were gone. 

“Six months,” I said. 

Julie made a face. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

Oh. Now I understood how my correction could be mistaken for me being upset. That was not the intention. I was not upset at all. “I wasn’t looking for an apology,” I said quickly.

Julie gave my arm a little squeeze with her own. “But it’s been too long, though. Lousy of me. So. Tell me everything. What’s new in Christie-land?” 

“Well...” I chuckled slightly. “Not that much, to be honest. I go to work. I walk Tiny. I have dinner at Mollie’s.”

“Is that all?” 

“Is there anymore?” I asked. 

Julie sighed. Not in annoyance, though. The sound was more of a sad one. “Well, I was thinking... is Mollie the only one you see?”

“No. I see Vanessa too,” I reminded her. 

“Vanessa is sixteen.”

“And there’s Mr. Jensen and Ramona and my other customers.”

“Christie,” Julie sighed again. “You know I wasn’t talking about your customers at the book café.” 

“I know,” I admitted. At least I thought I did. I had a feeling that I knew exactly what my best friend was getting at, but it was not something I particularly wanted to talk about. 

“I wish you would at least consider to you know, maybe...” Julie bit her lip. “Get in there again.”

”Get in what?”

”The dating pool,” she clarified. 

“Oh.” That kind of pool.

“What about Jennie the veterinarian?” Julie suggested. “She’s nice, isn’t she?”

“She is,” I agreed. “She’s very nice.” That was not a lie. Jennie really was very kind. 

“But?” Julie said softly. 

“But I don’t want to date, Julie,” I said and lifted my shoulders once. 

“Christie,” Julie said gently. “It’s been two years now.”

“I know. The most logical thing would be to move on, but I don’t want to move on, Jules. At least not like that. I can think about her without breaking down, but that’s it. I don’t want to meet somebody new. I want to stay with her.”

“But Christie-“

“No,” I interrupted and squeezed my best friend’s arm reassuringly. “I don’t mean that in a dark way or anything, Jules. I just mean that I still feel committed to her. Dating someone new... It would feel like cheating.” 

“I understand that, sweetie,” Julie said seriously and nodded almost solemnly. She exhaled, and her breath came out as white smoke. “But you’re still young, Christie,” she gently continued. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone for the rest of your life, you know that. She would have wanted you to be happy.”

I smiled. I knew that. That would have been her wish for me. She had been so good and kind and pure. Utterly selfless. Even her last gesture had been one of kindness. I doubted many people could say that. “I’m not alone, Jules,” I said. “I have plenty of people around me.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I assured and squeezed her arm again. “I’m alright, Julie.” I was. And I wasn’t interested in dating or meeting someone new. My heart still belonged to one person only. It probably always would.

“Can’t you at least promise me one thing?” Julie asked and brought me out of my musings. 

“Anything,” I promised in a heartbeat and only worried a little bit. 

“That you’ll go down to the pub after I’ve left tomorrow night.”

I wrinkled my nose. Anything but that. “Julie-“

“Christie,” she teasingly interrupted and flashed me a grin. “How long has it been since you last went to the pub?”

“Uhm...”

“Yeah, I figured. You need to get out more.”

“Julie-“

“Just one night. That’s all I’m asking. Go down to the pub and have a pint. Or something else. Whatever you want to drink. Anything. As long as you go. Just so I know that you’ve seen people that aren’t Mollie or Mr. Jensen.” 

I chuckled. “Alright. I can do that.”

“Great,” she gave me a little nudge. “So, what’s the plan for tonight? Wine and gossip?”

“That sounds great. You have to tell me everything about Dean,” I reminded her. 

She groaned. “I will. And believe me, that’s definitely a story!”

I laughed. I believed her. So did Tiny. He barked behind us, and Julie chuckled. 

We continued our brisk walk through the snow, and as we rounded a corner, I spotted Helena Frost coming out of a store. She was wearing a deep purple long coat and her blonde hair was mostly hidden under one of Mollie’s homemade knitted hats. She was carrying a bag of groceries in one hand, and I thought to myself that she probably had taken charge of the shopping. That was nice for Mollie. She could stay home and rest. Good for her arthritis. Her knuckles had looked so swollen the last time I saw her. 

Helena Frost lifted her free hand slightly and waved. Smiled. It took me a moment to realize that she was in fact waving at me, but when it dawned on me, I quickly lifted my hand and returned the greeting. Smiled at her.

“Who is that?” Julie asked curiously. 

“Helena Frost. Mollie’s granddaughter.”

“Helena Frost?” Julie echoed and raised an eyebrow. “THE Helena Frost?! The author?! Seriously?”

“Aye, that’s her,” I confirmed with a nod. 

“Wow! I had no idea that she’s Mollie’s granddaughter! I loved her books! They were so good!”

I shrugged slightly. “I’ve never read them.”

“You really should! You’re cheating yourself,” Julie scolded, and I chuckled. 

“I don’t know about that...”

Julie’s interested was piqued. “We should go over there and say hi! I’ve been dying to ask her when she’s publishing something new. Been tempted to email her about a million times, and now I can literally just ask her!”

“She’s on holiday, Jules,” I said. “And I think she’s on her way home from the grocery store. Look, she’s carrying a bag and everything. I think the timing would be pretty bad.” 

“Fine,” Julie huffed and mock-pouted. “I won’t attack her with questions. I’ll force myself to watch her walk away and miss the chance of a lifetime...”

“I think that’s a wise choice,” I said a bit absentmindedly as I observed Helena Frost walk away. I didn’t like the idea of bothering her while she was on holiday. She most likely already thought I was a   
complete klutz after my stunt with the wreath yesterday...


	18. Helena 4th of December

4th of December, Shieldaig 08:00 PM

Helena

“Well, dear, I’m off,” grandma announced as she shrugged her dusky pink coat on and carefully buttoned it all the way up to her chin. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along? You know that you’re welcome to do so. Margaret would only be happy.”

“No, that’s okay, gran,” I smiled. “I wouldn’t want to third wheel your appointment with Margaret.”

“That’s absolute nonsense,” gran huffed as she pressed her hat over her ears. “You would not be third wheeling at all.”

“Maybe not, but I think I’ll leave you and Margaret to it.”

“Are you certain, dear? I can cancel. Margaret wouldn’t mind. She knows that you and I are supposed to spend the time together.”

“It’s only for a couple of hours, gran,” I chortled. “I’ll be just fine. Maybe I’ll try to write something, who knows.” It was supposed to sound casual, but my stomach instantly knotted together just by thinking about writing. 

Grandma pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Helena, dear. You’re here on holiday. I know how stressed writing makes you feel right now.”

“Yes.” Right now? Try for the past two years, I thought to myself. 

“Tell you what,” grandma continued, clapping her hands together in that particular way she always did when she had an idea. “Why don’t you head down to the pub and have something to drink instead? 

Tonight is quiz night. Margaret and I sometimes go, and it’s really quite entertaining.”

“I’ll think about it.” quiz night on the local pub. According to Sarah, quiz night at the local pub was so ‘small town-esque’. The way she had said it had told exactly what she thought about it. Pub quizzes was for peasants and low lives. But it wouldn’t be the first time Sarah had been prejudiced about something she didn’t know about, and my memories of quiz night at the local pub were quite pleasant. Rather fun actually. Grandma and I had been there a few times, but it was many years ago, and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by showing up. The city girl who finally found time to visit her poor, aging grandmother. 

I checked myself. Now I was the one being prejudiced. I’m sure nobody were thinking of me like that. 

“You should head down to the pub, dear,” grandma said and pulled me out of my musings. “I’m sure you’ll have a nice time. And you’ll get the chance to see some young people too instead of my daft old face.” She barked out a laugh. 

I made a quick decision. “You know what, I think I might head down to the pub and see if I can answer any questions.”

“Wonderful.” Grandma brushed a hand over her coat. “Well, I’m off now. I’ll be home in a few hours, and then we can watch that television show. The one you like.”

“Fargo.”

“Yes, exactly.” she nodded. “That one. I told Margaret about it earlier, and she had no idea what I was talking about. I told her she needed to watch more television.”

“That was cheeky,” I said and suffocated a smile. Grandma hadn’t known what Fargo was before I showed up.

“Perhaps. But nevertheless true,” Grandma cackled, satisfied with her own wittiness. Then she tugged strands of white hair away under her hat and gave me one last look. “Now... are you absolutely certain that you’re not upset because I leave?”

“Grandma,” I protested and laughed because I could tell that she was purposefully joking with me.

Grandma cackled again. Bent down to kiss my cheek. More or less ordered me to go to the pub. And then she disappeared into the hall. A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and close. I stood from the couch and walked over to the window. Smiled when I saw grandma trot down the pathway I had cleared earlier today. A new layer of snow had fallen, so I had been busy with a shovel. My arms were aching because of it, but it was worth it. I didn’t want grandma to fall and injure herself. Sometimes I forgot how old she was. Grandma had a very special, youthful energy. She always had. One of the many reasons why I much preferred her over my parents. A horrible thing to say, really, but nevertheless true. My parents and I rarely got along. No. That was harsh. They had been by my side. They really had. And afterwards, they had tried their best to support me and help me through it, but they didn’t understand the change I felt had happened to me. Or perhaps they did not want to understand it. Either way our relationship was strained. My fault, I knew that. I was the one who neglected to call them. Who barely mustered to answer when they called me. I was the problem. 

I took a breath and snapped out of it. I had to do something before my thoughts turned too melancholic. Writing was not an option tonight. Pub-quiz it was. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been to a bar or a pub. Over the past two years I had turned into a recluse who had hidden in my apartment whilst trying to quell the unreasonable longing inside of me. But that ended right now. I decided that I did not want to be that person anymore. I wanted to be the kind of person who spontaneously headed down to the local pub and had a pint. Nudged out of the door by my grandmother, but still. Had one of my friends back in London tried to do the same, they wouldn’t have succeeded. Shieldaig was changing me. At least that was what I chose to believe was happening to me. 

I went into the hallway and found my purple coat and gloves. I shrugged the coat on and buttoned it all the way up to my chin like my grandmother had done with her coat a moment ago. Tonight was another cold night in Shieldaig, and according to the weather forecast, we could expect a snow storm the day after tomorrow. Which had me a bit worried about the airports, but grandma was convinced that it wouldn’t be ‘that bad’, and for whatever reason, I chose to believe that. Grandma had a way of soothing you like nobody else could. 

I brushed a hand over my coat. Tugged a lock of hair behind my ear. Should I put it up? Tie it back in a ponytail or a bun? No. I was on holiday. I was allowed to let my hair hang loose when I was on holiday. The tips of it was still a bit curly after my shower this morning, and it looked particularly shiny. Good. I preferred my hair shiny. Even if it got the slightest bit greasy, I was instantaneously taken back to a time where it had been nothing but greasy. A time where I hadn’t possessed the strength to wash it. The memory had me cringing, and I immediately stopped fiddling with my hair. I grabbed my black scarf instead and tied it elegantly around my neck. Now I was ready to head out, and I opened the front door. Considered for a moment. Should I lock the door? Grandma never did. To my horror, she even slept with her doors unlocked. Imagine doing that back home in London. But according to grandma, there were no burglars or muggers in Shieldaig. And I believed her. I left without locking the door. 

The most expensive thing in the cottage was my laptop, but there was nothing of value on that either. No nude photos that could be spread across the great wide web. No credit card details. The only thing on that laptop was a document I had written on two years ago and never opened since. 

Perhaps that was reason enough to hope that the laptop would in fact wind up stolen. If the laptop went missing, I wouldn’t feel so guilty every time I thought about that document that just waited for me. The document I couldn’t write on anymore no matter how hard I tried. The words refused to come, and I was starting to think that it was a permanent thing. 

The local pub looked exactly like it did the last time I had been here. Which had been years ago. I tried to ignore the pang of guilt as I looked around in the familiar room. I recognized all of it. The beat-up fireplace which hadn’t been used for about a hundred years or so but still remained here. The wooden benches and long tables. I had always loved the medieval touch this place had. And the smell of fire and ash that never seemed to leave no matter what. 

And as always, the pub was packed with people. Happy people laughing and talking and either drinking or enjoying a late dinner. I felt a bit out of place as I looked around in the pub. And it didn’t take long before I was noticed. 

“Welcome back, miss Frost,” said the whitehaired, toothless bartender. According to my grandmother, he was older than the world itself. He looked exactly like he did twenty years ago when my grandmother moved here, and I travelled up here to see her new place. And he always treated you the exact same way he always did. His greeting amused me. It had been years since I last was here, and he treated me like it I had been here yesterday. 

“Hi, Arthur,” I greeted and smiled at him. 

“It is good to have you back, miss Frost,” he said, flashing me another toothless grin.

“It’s good to be back,” I smiled. “It’s been too long.” I glanced around in the pub once more and now spotted something different. An open door. I peered through it and saw another room full of low tables and plushy chairs. It looked very cozy and a bit less pub-like. “That’s nice,” I said to Arthur, nodding towards the new room. “And new. I haven’t seen it before.”

“We extended the place a year ago,” Arthur said proudly, toothless grin growing. “It was time to get some more space.”

“Well, it looks very nice.”

“Thank you. As you can see, we’re quite busy tonight, but if you go that way-“ he lifted a slightly trembling finger and pointed to the open door leading into the other room “-You might find an available table. I will along in a moment to take your order.” 

“Thank you, Arthur.” 

I followed the direction he was pointing in and went inside the new room. I could easily understand why Arthur was proud of the extension. It looked very nice in here. And the fireplace actually worked. 

Soft Christmas carols were playing from a radio I couldn’t see, and the room was crammed with people. It seemed like there was sitting someone by every little table. Perhaps I would have to ditch my pub plans tonight. Or maybe I should have booked a table in advance. That would probably have been a good idea too. 

I felt a bit disappointed at the thought of my plans falling through. I had actually made myself excited for this. I had been looking forward to a night out. But now it looked like I would have to go home and watch television instead. 

I turned around, ready to tell Arthur that there unfortunately weren’t any table available and then head back home. 

That’s when I saw her. She was sitting kind of tugged away at a table in the farthest corner. Her table was almost completely hidden by the large Christmas tree that took up much of the space. I doubt I would have noticed her if it hadn’t been for the striking red hair, she had arranged in a long braid tonight. I followed an impulse and walked over to the table she sat at, eating what looked to be the rest of a club sandwich and drinking a pint. 

“Christie,” I greeted when I reached her table. 

Her head jerked up and she looked at me with one brown and one green eye. They were a bit wide. Perhaps she had been daydreaming and I had startled her. 

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I did not mean to scare you.”

“Helena Frost,” she said and smiled hesitantly. “Hello.” 

“Hello.” 

She glanced behind me. “Are you here with Mollie?”

“No, she’s with Margaret tonight.”

“Oh. Of course.” 

“Can I sit?” I asked and nodded towards the empty chair across her. 

“Of course.”

I shrugged off my coat. Draped it over the back of the plushy chair and then sat down. Wiggled a little and made myself comfortable. Then I looked at Christie. “Are you here alone too?” I asked and immediately felt ridiculous for asking. Of course she was. The chair I was sitting in had been empty a moment ago. 

“No,” Christie said to my surprise and glanced down at the floor. 

I followed her gaze and chuckled slightly when I spotted Tiny laying on the floor by her chair. I was honestly surprised I hadn’t seen him until now. “Oh, I see,” I said. “I didn’t know you were allowed to bring a dog to the pub.” 

“Some dogs you are,” Christie said shortly and took a gulp of her pint. 

“Are you here for pub quiz night?” I curiously inquired. 

“I’m here to get out of the house for a change,” she corrected and tugged slightly at the light blue oversized sweater she was wearing.

“Oh, I see.” I was intrigued. Why was she here alone? It was only yesterday I saw her arm in arm with a brunette woman. They had seemed very close, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the brunette woman had been Christie’s girlfriend. 

Not that it mattered if Christie had a girlfriend. Of course not. 

“Are you here for pub quiz night?” Christie asked and brought me out of my musings. 

“Yes, I guess I am,” I nodded. “Doesn’t hurt to brush up on your general knowledge now and then.” 

“No, it does not,” Christie agreed and tugged at her sweater sleeve. 

I looked at her. Why was I so fascinated with her? This wasn’t exactly normal behavior for me. I didn’t normally just waltz over to a stranger’s table and ask if I could sit. I suppose I was a bit of a loner, really. It sounded like a right cliché, but as an author you were bound to be a bit introvert, and ever since everything unraveled two years ago, I had damn nearly turned into a recluse who barely saw other people. And yet here I was. Unable to stop myself from asking Christie the stupidest question ever. “I’m sorry, but... have we met before?” I asked. Still while looking at her. 

She snapped her head up. Her gaze met mine, and once again I was confronted with those unusual eyes. The freckles on her nose blended into one big as her nose scrunched in confusion. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “Mollie has mentioned you many times, but we haven’t met.”

“No, of course not,” I back-pedaled. “It’s just... for some reason you seem... I don’t know, familiar.” 

Christie shrugged. “Well, perhaps I just have a very normal face.”

“Yes, maybe that’s it.” Absolutely not. With those eyes and freckles, Christie had one of the most unusual faces I had ever seen. But of course I did not tell her that. “Are those pints any good?” I asked instead, nodding towards the mug in front of her. 

“They’re alright,” she said and seemed amused for some reason. 

“What?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. 

She tugged at her sweater sleeve. “Sorry, it’s just, you have a very funny way of saying ‘pint’.” 

“Oh,” I said and chuckled lightly. “Well, I suppose folks from London have a very funny way of saying pint.”

“Aye, I suppose so.” 

“I once visited Los Angeles,” I told her. “Everyone said ‘beer’. It was positively jarring.” 

“I see.”

“Where did you live before moving to Shieldaig?” I asked. 

She lifted a reddish eyebrow. 

“My grandmother told me that you moved here four years ago,” I explained. 

“Oh. Well, that’s right. I grew up in Edinburgh. Lived in London for a few years while I studied, and now we’re here. Living in a flat wasn’t for us,” Christie said, eyes flickering to Tiny on the floor. 

“Bit difficult to have a big dog in an apartment, eh?” I guessed. I was surprised to hear that Christie had lived in London.

“Mhmm.”

Our conversation was interrupted by when Arthur came over to us and asked me if I wanted anything. 

“A pint,” I replied and nodded towards Christie’s pint. 

Arthur promised to find that for me and then he left once more. 

Christie shifted in her chair, and for a second that had me worried that she was about to leave. The next second, I felt ridiculous. She could leave whenever she wanted, couldn’t she? 

But she did not. The only thing happening was her uncrossing and then crossing her legs again. She fiddled with her sweater sleeve again. “Have you finished the book?” she asked. 

“Book?”

“All The Flowers In Paris.”

“Oh. Yes, I have.”

“And what did you think of it?” 

“I really liked it. But I think I cared more for Céline’s story than I did Caroline’s.”

Christie nodded. “I felt the same way.” she gave me a quick one over, and I chuckled to myself. “What? Do I have something on my face?” I lightly teased. 

Christie did not react to the joke. “No, I’m just trying to guess your favorite genre.”

“I see. And how’s that going?”

Christie seemed to measure me from head to toe for a moment. “I think your favorite genre is historical fiction.”

“And what lead to that deduction?” I asked curiously. 

“Just a hunch. You looked twice at the blurb for All The Flowers in Paris.”

I chuckled. “Well, you’re right. That is my favorite genre.”

“Excellent,” Christie said with a slight nod. “You should come back to the book café. I’ve got plenty of historical fiction.”

“That sounds great. I’ll be sure to check it out when I return the book.”

“Good.”

We sat in silence for a while. I was planning which books I wanted to loan the next time. It would appear that reading was what I wanted to do with my life.

Then Christie broke the silence. “I’m surprised,” she said and took a sip of her pint. 

I snapped out of my musings about books. “About what?”

“That your favorite genre is historical fiction.”

“Oh. Why?”

She shrugged. “Because you write thrillers.”

“I know, but lately thrillers haven’t meant much to me. The words aren’t coming to me,” it bursted out of me, and I was surprised. I did not tell many people about my writer’s block and certainly not strangers like Christie. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Christie offered. 

“It’s alright. It’s not like it’s your fault that the words keeps running away,” I said and laughed at my own hilarity. 

Christie did not share my amusement. Instead she frowned softly. “Words does not run.”

“No,” I said slightly surprised. “It’s... It’s a joke.”

“Oh!” a rosy glow rose in her cheeks. “It’s a good one.”

I settled for a nod and a smile. Then hastily looked down at the table. Away from her blushing cheeks which seemed to work as some sort of magnet on my eyes. What on earth was the matter with me?

Fortunately enough, I was prevented from thinking too much about that when Arthur came over with my pint. I thanked him, and when he left, I raised said pint slightly. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Christie said somewhat surprised and hastily raised her own pint. 

They clinked together, and I smiled at her. She returned the smile, but quickly looked down again. Took a small sip of her pint and then began tugging at her sweater sleeve once more. “Thank you,” she said spontaneously. 

“For what?” I asked, confused. She didn’t really have any reason to thank me. 

“For helping me with the Christmas wreath the other day,” Christie clarified. “I had a few too many things to carry.”

“A leveret being one of them,” I joked. 

Christie cracked a smile at that. 

“How is Marilla doing?” I asked. I was still slightly amazed at the way Christie had been capable of just holding the injured animal. 

“She’s doing much better. She’s resting at home. I would have brought her with me, but I don’t think she would have liked the noise.”

I almost laughed. But then I realized that Christie was serious. Not a trace of amusement on her face. She took a small sip of her pint and then sat it down on the table.

I too sat my pint down. It was very good. I grabbed the napkin and discreetly wiped my lips. “Place is crowded tonight, huh?”

“Aye,” Christie said somewhat tightly and squirmed in her seat. She actually seemed pretty uncomfortable.

I frowned. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m just not so good with crowds. But I promised someone I’d go out tonight, so...” she let the rest of the sentence hang in the air and took another sip of her pint. 

“You promised someone that you’d go to the pub?” I was confused. 

“Aye.” She shrugged. For a moment it seemed like she wasn’t planning on elaborating, but then she continued: “my friend Julie likes when I go out and see other people.” She glanced up at me. “Julie lives  
in Edinburgh, but she came to visit me yesterday. She just left this morning.”

“Oh.” Something was starting to dawn on me. “Was she the one I saw you with when I left the grocery store?”

“Yes.”

I felt unnecessarily relieved. So the brunette woman I had seen Christie with yesterday had been her friend. Not a girlfriend. Not that it was important or anything. Of course not.

Christie glanced around in the pub and almost seemed relieved when Arthur reappeared and announced that it was time for the pub-quiz. Everyone whooped and cheered. Apart from Christie. She rose from her seat and shrugged on her green coat. 

“You’re leaving?” I asked and once again felt stupid. Of course she was leaving. Otherwise she wouldn’t put on her coat. 

“Yes. I prefer leaving before everyone starts shouting,” Christie replied and kept her gaze glued to Tiny as he too rose from his position. 

“Oh. Alright.” why was I so disappointed that she left? I should not be. I didn’t even know her. “I’ll see you later.”

“You will? I mean, yeah, sure. See you later, Helena. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Come on, Tiny. Let’s go home.”

She left. Disappeared out of the door with her faithful dog trailing behind her, and this odd, flat feeling settled in my stomach. Suddenly I didn’t feel like being at the pub anymore. But leaving all but ten minutes after I had gotten my pint seemed like a failure. So I stayed. Told myself that I would give it another thirty minutes and then leave.

“Into which sea does the Nile flow?” Arthur asked with his rusty voice. 

I knew that, so I said: “Mediterranean.”

“That’s one point for miss Helena Frost,” he creaked. “If you get another twenty, the next pint is on the house.”

I chuckled to myself. It would appear that I now was participating in the pub quiz...


	19. Christie 5th of December

5th of December, Shieldaig 08:05 AM

Christie

Milk. Flour. Sugar. Dog food for Tiny. An extra box of tea. Bread. Canned soup. Snacks. Possibly crackers or chips. Salted butter. Lasts longer than normal butter. Energy bars. Extra paper towels. Eggs. Canned tuna and/or salmon.

Tiny yapped, and I glanced up at him. “Shh, be quiet, Tiny. I’m busy.” 

He yawned in response. Cheeky bugger. But for once, I did not pay attention to him. Instead I added another thing to my ‘Snowstorm essential list’. Carrots. Lots of carrots for Marilla. This was not my first ‘Snowstorm essential list’. There had been a really huge snowstorm four years ago, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the memories of how she and I had spent the time where we had been hold up in the cottage because of the snow. I had made so much hot chocolate during those days. Hot chocolate with marshmallows. That had been her favorite, and even though the texture of marshmallows always made me feel icky, I had willingly touched them and added them to the hot chocolate. For her, I was willing to touch just about anything. 

The memories of her consumed me for a moment, and soon I found myself in the living room, looking at the picture of her. Looking at it did not make me feel sad today. Instead I felt happy. Because that had been a good day. The best day. Her smile was so bright in that picture. Her dark eyes were almost gleaming. I reached out and touched the glass covering the picture, wishing that I could have reached out and touched her face instead. What I wouldn’t give to be able to touch her cheek one last time. Her smooth, smooth skin. The best texture in the whole wide world. 

“I miss you,” I told the picture. “But not in a bad way today.” I was fully convinced that there were many ways to miss a person. Good and bad. Today the sadness didn’t overwhelm me. Today I was grateful to have known her. To have shared some of my life with her. A small part, yet a huge part. A part that had shaped the rest of my life. Exactly like she had shaped me. Because of her, I had done so many things I would have thought was impossible. 

But the biggest and perhaps most impressive thing she had taught me was to live without her. I had once found that to be impossible. And yet I was doing it every single day. 

Tiny suddenly started pushing at my hand with his snout, and I realized that I had started to pick at the skin on my index finger. “Thanks, boy,” I said softly and patted his furry head. “You’re a good boy.” 

He really was. He knew that I was not supposed to pick at the skin on my fingers. That was a bad stim. A really bad one. One that I was not supposed to do. Stimming in general was something I tried to do only when I was by myself.

I sighed. I had failed last night when I went to the pub. I had really tried to do as Julie had begged me to. I had gone out. Enjoyed a meal out. I’d had a pint. I had even interacted with people. I had not expected to see Helena Frost at the pub, but of course she could hardly stay cooped up at her grandmother’s cottage all the time. I doubted she was the type who liked being cooped up inside. 

I fiddled with my sweater sleeve. Tugged at it. Thinking about it, I had probably come across as rude by leaving so abruptly last night. Staying and talking would have been the polite thing to do. But I had been drained because of all the noise, and I had to give Marilla her medicine. I tugged at my sleeve again. I could have told Helena Frost that. I could have given her a reason as to why I had to leave. That would have been the polite thing to do. 

“Why are social cues so hard?” I asked Tiny. “I used to be better at this...” I trailed off. I HAD been better at it when she had been alive. But lately it had felt like I was regressing. If that even was possible.   
Maybe I wasn’t regressing, but I had definitely become more reserved since her death. I supposed that was what happened when you lost your favorite person... 

Tiny barked once, and I quickly snapped out of it once more. “Aye, Tiny,” I agreed. “It’s no good thinking about that now. I’ve got things to do.”

He tilted his head at me. 

“And you can’t go with me,” I teased. “Not this time.”

He looked so utterly disappointed at that, but this time I would have to be cruel about it. He couldn’t go with me to the grocery store. That wouldn’t be a fortunate thing to do. 

“You stay here,” I gently ordered him. “Look after Marilla for me?”

“Ruff,” said Tiny, and I chose to believe that meant yes. I knew that he would never disturb her. She was currently resting in her cage, and she would stay there for another few days. No way I would let her out when there was a snowstorm coming. 

I headed into the hall where I found my coat and shrugged it on. “I won’t be gone for long,” I told Tiny. I furthermore told him to be a good boy, and then I left the house...

The grocery store wasn’t particularly busy. One of the perks of doing your shopping early, I suppose. I checked my shopping list again. Milk first. I went over to the cooler and found the milk. Put it in the basket I brought from home. That was the milk done. Now I just needed to find all the canned stuff. And the dog food for Tiny and Marilla’s carrots. 

“And tea,” I reminded myself. Very important. I doubted I would be able to last a day without my tea. 

I found the canned stuff I needed. Perhaps I was overreacting a tiny bit, but one could never know. The snow storms could sometimes get very bad around here. It was better to be prepared for every possible scenario instead of just assuming that everything would be okay. 

“And that’s the canned tuna,” I mumbled to myself. “Now I just have to find the salmon...” I trailed off and shook my head. Now I was talking to myself again. I had a habit of doing that. 

“Good morning, Christie!”

And now someone was talking to me. I looked up and spotted Eddie, the mechanic who worked further down the street. “Good morning, Eddie,” I smiled. 

“Shopping for supplies?” he asked and laughed good naturedly. 

“Aye,” I nodded. “The forecast said it’s gonna be really bad, so I’d rather be prepared.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “I’m glad I bumped into you, Christie. There’s something I wanna talk to you about.”

“Alright. And what might that be?” I asked even though I already knew what it was.

“Well, the thing is that we’ve just gotten a VW Van in,” Eddie said. “Bright yellow and almost as good as new, that thing is...”

“Eddie...” I sighed. “You know I can’t. Not right now.”

“Alright, but now you know it’s there, aye?”

He meant well, I knew that. And it broke my heart that I just couldn’t say ‘yes, I’ll take the van and do the thing I’ve been meaning to do’. But I had no choice. “Thanks, Eddie. But I’m sure it’ll get sold soon enough.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He smiled at me. “Let me know if you change your mind, lass.” 

“I will,” I said even though I couldn’t afford to change my mind.

He flashed me one last smile and then he walked up to the cashier so he could pay for his grocery supplies. I pretended to look at pasta and disappeared behind the nearest shelf. I wish he had never told me about that van. It reminded me that the book café was struggling financially. And it reminded me of the plans I once had. The plans that we had. The book café, as much as I loved it, was the second choice. 

I waited until Eddie had left the supermarket. Then I slowly peered out from behind the pasta shelf. Emerged from behind it. And scolded myself a little. Hiding behind a shelf in the grocery store was not exactly normal. But Eddie had honestly startled me a little bit. I had sort of been daydreaming and hadn’t seen him coming. Which was why it was important to stay alert instead of being in your own head all the time. Maybe Julie had been right when she said that I needed to get out more. See more people instead of being in my own head and talk to myself. 

I trotted over to the fruit and vegetables department. Maybe I should make myself a fun lunch for a change. Just to lift my spirit a little. I sized up the dragon fruit laying in front of me. Yes, why not? A salad with dragon fruit. I knew from experience that the unusual fruit could be used in salads, and it actually tasted quite good. When made correctly, of course. 

I snatched the fruit and stuffed it into my basket. Then I continued to cross things off my ‘snow storm essentials’-list. Dog food for Tiny. I chuckled to myself. Sometimes dog food was the most expensive thing on my grocery list. He was a big boy. And big boys ate lots of food. Tiny loved food. All the time. He never directly begged at the table, but he like to lie on the floor and look up at me with his big, blue eyes. He had the saddest beggar eyes ever. That’s what she had said. She was also the one who had ‘taught’ him to beg at the table. She had been so kindhearted and hadn’t been able to resist his persistent gaze. I hadn’t liked that he was begging at the table, but we had never argued about. Generally speaking, we hadn’t argued much during the time we were together. We had both agreed that arguing was pointless and wasted precious time that could have been spent doing other things. 

You’re thinking too hard again, Starling. Aye. I was. My inner voice was absolutely right. I pulled myself together and went over to grab those extra paper towels I had written on my list. According to the forecast, we could expect the snow storm to hit sometimes late tomorrow night. The wind was supposed to pick up around eleven, and then the weather would start to go really bad. I didn’t mind the snow storm as such, but it was a problem if the book café couldn’t open like it was supposed to. That would mean loss of money. Again. The Storybook Nook’s fate constantly worried me. Just because I had made it until now did not mean that the book café would survive in the future. The money she had left me was running out even though I had done my utmost to make them last as long as they possibly could. Of course I could just up the price on the cakes and beverage, and I could start charging more when a customer took a book home with them. I could let Vanessa go and save money by doing everything on my own. But the thought alone left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I did not want to fire Vanessa. She was great with the customers. And I did not want to start charging more. It had never been about the money for me. It had always been about spreading my love for books and finding the perfect book for someone. If I started thinking in numbers and charging more, I was afraid that message would get lost somewhere along the way. There had to be another way to do this. A third way. That’s what she always had said when something was difficult and there only appeared to be two solutions to the issue. She would kiss my forehead and say: ‘we’ll just start looking for the third way, Chrissie-Chris.’

So that was exactly what I would do now. Look for the third way that meant that I could earn money without firing or thinking in numbers. 

If only I knew how.

I continued my grocery shopping. Found the stuff I needed and let them fall into my basket. Now and then I managed to get distracted by a colorful or shiny item, but then I reminded myself that I did not need it. Not even if it was shiny or colorful. The dragon fruit would have to sate my need for colorful things today. I had to be practical and buy the things I actually needed instead of spending money of unnecessary stuff. I had just grabbed a few energy bars when I heard the automatic doors to the grocery store open. More customers had arrived. I was rude enough to hope that it was not Eddie who had forgotten something and had come back. I hoisted the shopping basket slightly up. There were many items in it, and my arm was starting to cramp a little. Then I peered around the shelf I was standing half-hidden behind. It was not Eddie. It was Mollie and Helena Frost. Mollie was waving a long list about, and I figured that she had made her own ‘snow storm essentials’-list. She could probably remember how bad the weather had gotten four years ago, like I could. That had been quite the storm. 

I knew that lurking was not a polite thing to do, but I still let my gaze linger a little longer at the duo. Mollie was happily chitchatting like she so often did, and Helena Frost answered in a low, patient voice. Helena Frost had a nice voice. A bit on the deep side and very soft. The random thought that Helena Frost’s voice would be very well suited for ASMR popped inside my head, and I truthfully had no idea why that was. Mollie and Helena were linking arms as they walked through the grocery store, and I could sense that Helena had a very close relationship with her grandmother. I wondered why it had taken her so long to come for a visit. But then I remembered that it was none of my business, and that I shouldn’t be lurking like this. I turned around, steering towards the shelf with the tea.

“And we’ll need some potatoes too, dear,” Mollie said. 

“I’ll go and grab some,” Helena replied, and I busied myself with finding the tea I needed. It was bad enough that I had been lurking. I didn’t want to be eavesdropping either. 

“And some cream too, dear. For the sauce,” Mollie added. 

Helena chuckled. “And what’s for dessert, then? High cholesterol, perhaps?”

Mollie laughed heartedly. “Oh, very funny, dear. You can’t make a good sauce without a wee bit of cream.” 

She was definitely right about that, I thought to myself. No sauce without a splash of cream. But Helena Frost did not look like the type who ate lots of sauce. 

I grabbed my preferred tea and looked down at the items in my shopping basket. There seemed to be something missing from it. I glanced at my shopping list. Butter. Extra salted butter. That was what was missing. The last thing missing. As soon as I had found the butter, could go home to Tiny and Marilla. I glanced at my watch. I was actually in a bit of a hurry now. I had thirty minutes before the book café was supposed to be open. I quickly spun around, and half raced towards the cooler where they kept the butter, but before I made it there, I was forced to stop abruptly to avoid colliding. With Helena Frost. 

“Woah,” she chuckled as she too stopped abruptly. She tossed her blonde hair over one shoulder and asked: “where’s the fire?”

“Fire? What fire?” Oh. Rhetorical question, Starling. There is no fire anywhere. It’s just a figure of speech. “I’m just running a little late,” I said, feeling slightly flustered and hoped that she wouldn’t make a point out of mentioning my blunder. 

“Oh, I see,” she said and grabbed a carton of cream. “And I thought Gran and I were the only ones who were shopping early.”

“No, I usually do my shopping early,” I said. “The store is less crowded then.” why was I telling her that?

“That makes sense,” Helena nodded. 

I settled for a faint ‘mhmm’ and then reached for the salted butter. So did she. She was not wearing any mittens, and when our fingers accidentally brushed together, I couldn’t help but notice that despite the cold weather, her hand was quite warm. 

“Sorry,” she said, quickly drawing her hand back. 

“It’s alright,” I said, even though accidental touching usually made me feel squirmish. But today I was more curious than uncomfortable. Helena’s expression was all funny looking. Of course I was used to people wearing expressions that sometimes did not fit the things they said, but Helena’s expression was one that had me pondering for longer than usually. Her blue eyes were all wide and her mouth slightly agape. 

“Are you alright?” I asked and congratulated myself with the spontaneous question. That had sounded perfectly considerate and caring. 

“Yes!” Helena said a little too enthusiastic. Deciphering someone’s voice had never been one of my issues. “I’m fine,” she continued. “I guess I just... zoned out a little bit there. You know what it’s like.”

“Aye.” Indeed I did. More than she ever could understand. 

“Did you want the butter?” she asked, vaguely gesturing towards said butter. 

“Sure.” I reached out and grabbed a pack of butter. She did the same, and I flashed her a quick, closemouthed smile. “I guess I’ll... see you around.”

“Yes, Shieldaig is a small town, and we seem to keep bumping into each other all the time,” Helena said. 

Did we? I hadn’t noticed. Sure, we had ended up in the same place a couple of time, but I wasn’t sure I would define that as ‘keep bumping into each other’. Still, I nodded. Turned around so I could walk up to the cash register.

Helena did the same. Turned around. I took a step to the left to let her pass. She did the same. I took a step to the right in an attempt to make it better. She did the same. Then she laughed. “You’ll go left, and I’ll go right?” she suggested. 

“Sure.” 

But instead of going left, I ended up taking another step to the right, and I blushed furiously as I looked down at my hands. Left, Starling. She said left. You have five freckles in a circle on your left index finger. Pay attention! “S-sorry,” I muttered as I finally managed to take a step to the left and thereby breaking the odd ‘dance’ we had ended up doing. 

Helena chuckled. But in a nice way. She was not laughing at me. 

“Nena, dear, what’s taking so long? Can you not find the cream?” Mollie asked, and a second later she came around the corner. She smiled when she spotted me. “Christie, dear. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mollie.”

“How are you doing today?”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically even though I felt a bit flustered and stupid after the whole left and right blunder. 

“And how’s Tiny? And the little baby hare?”

“They’re fine too. They’re actually waiting for me at home, so I should probably...” I left the sentence unfinished and said instead: “have a nice day.” then I turned around once more, ready to walk up and pay for my groceries. 

But before I could, Mollie called me back: “oh, Christie, dear?” 

I turned back around. “Yes, Mollie?”

“I am making pot roast for dinner tomorrow night,” she announced. “It would be so nice if you could come and join us. Wouldn’t it, Nena?”

“Of course,” Helena smiled. “The more the merrier.”

Pot roast. Was my stomach already growling in approval? I loved pot roast. Mollie knew that. It had actually been a bit of a tradition between us. She made pot roast for dinner every Friday night and invited me over. First, we would have dinner and then we would either watch television- Mollie had so many channels- or read together. It was all very cozy, and I would lie if I claimed that I did not miss it. Nor was I busy. My Friday night plans usually mostly consisted of a cup of cocoa and then early to bed. 

“Say yes,” Mollie sweetly coaxed and chortled. “We would love for you to join us.”

“And besides, there’s no way only two people can eat that pot roast,” Helena interjected and chuckled. 

I considered it for a moment. I liked pot roast a lot. And I liked Mollie a lot. But Helena was a stranger, and I did not know how to act around strangers. Didn’t know how to talk to them. But then I remembered the pub last night. I had actually been doing quite good on the small talk until I had left so abruptly. If I came over for dinner tomorrow night, I could make up for my rudeness. 

“Alright,” I told both of them and smiled. “I would love to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Can I bring Tiny?” I always brought Tiny. Mollie never minded it, but perhaps Helena Frost wasn’t interested in having a big dog around when she ate. 

“Of course you can bring Tiny, dear,” Mollie assured. “And Marilla too if she feels lonely. We will see you tomorrow night then.”

“Aye,” I confirmed. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“So do we,” Mollie said. “I might come over to the book café later to find another book.”

“Well, you’re always welcome. Both of you. See you later.”

“See you, dear.”

With the conversation concluded, I could finally head up to the counter and pay for the items in my shopping basket. As I was packing my groceries away in the bag I had brought from home, Helena Frost suddenly poked her head around the corner and said: “Christie?”

“Yes?” I replied and lifted my chin slightly to look at her. 

“I won last night,” she told me. 

“Won?” I was confused. 

“The pub-quiz,” she clarified and chuckled. “Fifty points and a free pint.” 

“Oh,” now I was chuckling too. “Good job.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t beat the record for quickest answering time, though,” she continued and winked at me. “I heard that someone else is way quicker than me.”

Me. That someone was me. I had participated in the pub quiz one time three years ago, and my name was still written on the black board in the pub. 

“But I’ll keep trying though,” Helena added, and her blue eyes got that particular glint in them again. “Have a nice day, Christie.”

“You too, Helena Frost.” Oops. I probably was not supposed to say her surname out loud. Before the situation could get any more embarrassing, I grabbed my shopping bag and ducked out of the supermarket as quickly as I could. 

But as I walked back down the street with the heavy bag in my hand, I realized something. And that was....

Even though Helena Frost was a stranger.... I liked her.


	20. Helena 6th of December

6th of December, Shieldaig

Helena

“Bollocks,” I said plainly as I closed the lid on my laptop. For the past two hours, I had tried to write something. No, not something. I had been ambitious enough to try and write on the next book in the ‘Right Here In The Darkness’-series, but once again, I came up empty. Nothing was happening. Well, almost nothing. I had actually written two words. ‘Skye, 1969’. Which was more than I had written in two years. I wasn’t completely sure what I was trying to do. Perhaps kick off the new book by describing a grisly murder taking place on a remote island. According to Brad, that was exactly how you introduced the third novel in the series. 

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t coax my brain into describing a gruesome murder. My heroine in the book, Regina White, the tormented police officer with the grim secret, meant absolutely nothing to me. I couldn’t connect with her anymore. Her character did not speak to me like she once had. I sighed a little to myself. There had been a time where Regina White and her problems had taken up all my time. I had been consumed, but in the best way possible. The stories had been all I thought about, all I dreamed of at night, all I breathed. But now... not so much. Regina White was no more than a puppet who did the things I wrote she would do. She was not... alive. 

“This is not working,” I dully acknowledged and rubbed a palm over my head. My plan about writing when I got to Scotland was falling apart. My phone made a chirping sound, indicating that someone had just sent me a text. Happy to have my attention taken away from the now closed laptop, I took the phone and checked the message. It was Kristin who had texted me. ‘What time are you coming home tomorrow? Miss you!’.

I frowned for a moment but then remembered. Oh, right. It had been a week tomorrow. I had told Kristin that I would be coming back to LA after a week. I had completely forgotten all about that. I had been much too busy re-connecting with my grandmother. Helping her with the shopping. Going for walks and reading together. All of it had been wonderful, but it had also meant that I had forgotten to think about going home. I hadn’t booked a plane ticket. But because of the weather, it would be impossible for me to go home tomorrow either way. I shot Kristin a quick text: ‘Major snow storm coming tonight. Airport closed. Extended my stay to the 11th.’

There. I had just bought myself another week in this quaint, Scottish village, and it felt very good. It didn’t take long before my phone made another sound. I checked the message from Kristin: ‘oh, alright. Writing’s going well, then?’

Ha. Might as well be honest. ‘No, not really. But I think being here is good for me.’ I smiled. That was true. I had felt lots calmer since arriving here. And if I stayed here another week, maybe, perhaps I would be able to write something. Maybe just a rough draft of the next book in the series. Maybe I could re-discover Regina White as a character. Write down everything about her. Her entire life story. Even the parts I hadn’t shared with the public yet. Her good traits and bad traits. Her habits. Everything. Sometimes you just had to go back and get to know your characters again, and that was exactly what I would be doing during my next week here. 

My phone bleeped again. A new text. ‘Okay. Then you should definitely stay another week. Don’t worry, I’ll water your plants 😉’

‘Thank you. I’ll see you when I get home. Let’s meet for a glass of wine or something.’

‘Sounds great!’

I sent a happy emoji her way and figured that was the end of the conversation. Honestly, I was surprised to hear from Kristin. She was a fleeting presence in my life to say the least. Partially my fault. I was a mess when it came to staying in touch with people. But Kristin was one of those people who didn’t stay for long in the same place. She could be in Los Angeles one day and in Malibu the next. Constantly switching between jobs. Bartending. Nanny. Dog walker. And anything in between, really. At thirty four, she was still drifting through life like a twenty something year old. Which there was nothing wrong with, but her lifestyle meant that she and I had been drifting apart for quite a while now. She continued onwards to the next city, and I forgot to return her calls. It was a vicious circle, really. 

A dark chuckle escaped me when I realized that friends were in short supply in my life. Sure, I had Lisa, but she was in Miami. Far away. My only friend was in Miami. Maybe I should sent her a text to set up a skype appointment sometimes later. I missed talking to her. 

But for right now, it was time to do something about my appearance. I had foolishly thought that today was a writing day, so I hadn’t made a point out of dressing nicely. Instead I had opted for sweatpants and a plain, black t-shirt. The outfit was great for relaxing at home, but a bit too casual when you were expecting a guest for dinner like grandma and I was tonight. 

I rose from the chair and felt a bitter satisfaction in turning my back on the laptop. 

Upstairs in the little guestroom that now was ‘my’ room, I changed out of the beat up jogging-outfit and into my black pencil skirt and the maroon colored blouse. Then I brushed my hair, so it curled against the top of my shoulders. Then a bit of makeup. Nothing major, just a little bit of bronze on my eyelids and some concealer to hide the dark shadows underneath my eyes. I hadn’t slept so well last night. I had dreamed of bright white lights and a world that seemed to be turning upside down. I had woken up thoroughly confused and convinced that I was not in Shieldaig but a very different place. 

Realizing that I was trailing off, I sat the mascara wand down and went back downstairs. 

“Look at you, Nena,” my grandmother said as I came into the kitchen. “You look very smart.”

“Thank you,” I said automatically, but the way she said it made me pause. Was I looking too smart? I glanced down at myself. The maroon colored blouse was the nicest blouse I owned. Why had I chosen to wear this one tonight? I was not going out. This was just a quiet night in with my grandmother and one of her friends. I considered it. Would I have dressed up like this if the friend coming over for dinner had been Margaret? Or was I making an extra effort because it happened to be Christie who was coming over for dinner? I was reluctant to answer that question. Instead I decided that I was being ridiculous once again. It made no sense for me to look my best for Christie’s sake. I barely knew her. Certainly not well enough to be interested in dressing up for her. And she was twenty five. I was thirty five and had enough baggage to make even the most resilient person run away. No, I was done with all that. I had sworn that when Sarah had left me. That I was through once and for all. 

“Nena? Dear, are you alright?” 

“Yes,” I said quickly, flashing my grandmother a smile. 

“Are you certain? You looked a bit pale. You don’t feel faint, do you?”

“No, not at all,” I assured. “The pot roast smells delicious, grandma.”

“Let’s hope it’ll taste just as good,” grandma said, eyes flickering towards the clock on the wall. Christie should be here in thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds?” I echoed. That was awfully precise. 

“Yes, Christie is always very punctual,” Grandma chuckled. 

“Oh, I see.” 

“Could you please set the table for us, dear? Use the nice china.”

“Yes, of course.” I did what she asked and set the table. The nice china consisted of the plates with the rose motive. I had always liked those plates. But usually, grandma only used it for special occasions. 

That was when the doorbell rang. My head jerked up and I forgot all about the fine china. 

“Could you get that, dear?” grandma asked over her shoulder. “I’m just about to tend to the potatoes.”

“Sure. I got it,” I said as I headed into the tiny hallway and opened the door. 

There was Christie standing. Her tiny frame was almost disappearing in the enormous, big parka coat and chunky scarf she was wearing. She had piled her long copper-red hair into a bun on top of her head, and of course Tiny was by her side. I had reached the point where I find it strange if she was without her dog. 

“Hi, Christie,” I greeted and smiled. 

“Hello, Helena,” she said softly and looked up at me for a split-second before looking back down at my middle. 

“Come on in,” I said briskly. “Dinner is almost ready.” 

“That sounds good.” 

I stepped aside so she could come into the hallway. First Christie and then Tiny. I was impressed. Most dogs would just have blazed through the house, I imagined, but Tiny patiently waited until Christie systematically had checked each of his paws to make sure that they weren’t dirty. Once that was done, Christie told him: “go find Pepper. But be gentle with him. He’s an old man.”

Tiny trotted past us and inside the kitchen where my grandmother greeted him in a rather high pitched voice.

That made me chuckle. But I quickly pulled myself together and asked: “do you want me to take your coat or anything?” where on earth did that come from? What was this, the 1950’s? 

Christie seemed just as surprised as I was. “No, that’s alright,” she said as she unzipped her coat and revealed what she was wearing underneath. A blue and red checkered flannel dress with long sleeves and a belt at the waist. She had thrown a grey knitted shawl over her narrow shoulders, and once again I was strangely reminded of a more modern version of Anne of Green Gables. I noted that there was snowflakes in her red hair. I did not know that it was snowing already. 

Christie carefully hung her coat on the rack amongst grandmother’s many (and colorful) coats and scarves. Then she turned her head and looked at me. “Should we go into the kitchen?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” I said, quickly snapping out of it. 

She shifted on her feet, clearly waiting for me to go first, so I did. And as I headed back to the kitchen, I silently yelled at myself for being so strange. I had been fine a moment ago. Then Christie stepped into the cottage, and suddenly my heart was thrumming in my chest in a most peculiar manner. God, what was the matter with me? 

“Hello, Mollie,” Christie greeted as my grandmother turned around. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Christie, my dear,” grandma smiled as she walked over to her and gave her a hug. “You don’t need to say thank you. You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

“Thank you, Mollie.”

I watched as my grandmother seemed to tighten her grip around Christie for just a moment before letting go. She was treating Christie exactly like a granddaughter, and I thought to myself that maybe Christie had been a stand-in granddaughter for my grandmother during the time I had not been around. I was not jealous at all. I was happy my grandmother had had Christie when I had not been here. And even happier was I that I finally had made to Shieldaig so I could spend time with my grandmother. And get to know Christie. Why had I never listened when my grandmother had spoken of her? I was certain grandma would have to have talked about Christie at some point. How could she not? Christie wasn’t exactly the kind of person you couldn’t not mention. 

Grandma more or less ordered us to sit down while she got the last part of dinner ready. She didn’t want help even though I offered it and Christie did the same. 

“You stay put,” she barked as Tiny laid down on the floor near Christie’s chair. “I much prefer doing it on my own.”

Right then. So small talk it was. I looked at Christie. She was looking down at her hands, and I noted that she had five freckles in a kind of circle on her left index finger. I hadn’t noticed that before. I also noted that the skin between her thumb and index finger looked a bit sore. There was a little bit of a bruise. I wondered what had happened. Maybe she had dropped a book onto her hand or something like that. 

“Did you get all your shopping done yesterday?” I asked. 

“Yes,” Christie said shortly and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. There was always this one strand of hair that seemed to escape whatever style she had her hair in. It was quite interesting, really. 

“Great. And what have you been doing today?” 

She shrugged lightly. “I got up early to bake pies for the book café, and later I tended to the customers there. Not that there was that many...” she trailed off, flushed slightly and then looked down at her hands again. 

I felt a twinge of concern. Was The Storybook Nook struggling? That would be a shame. It seemed like Christie had created quite the magical little place. “I might be coming down there tomorrow,” I told her. “I have to return All The Flowers In Paris, and I would like to sit there and write for a while if that’s okay?” I silently added that I would buy at least one slice of pie while I was there. If there was any way I could help, I wanted to. 

“Of course,” Christie nodded and frowned softly. “But I thought you were going back to Los Angeles tomorrow?” 

“Oh. No, I have actually extended my stay with another week.”

“You have?” grandma chirped in. “That’s wonderful, Nena!”

“I completely forgot to ask if you’ll have me for another week,” I sheepishly acknowledged. “I am sorry.”

“You-“ grandma huffed slightly as she put the pot roast on the table. “-Can stay for as long as you want, Helena. I am more than happy to have you here.”

“Thanks, grandma.” I nodded towards the pot roast. “That looks really delicious.” 

“It does,” Christie agreed. “And it smells wonderful too, Mollie.”

“Thank you, dear,” grandma beamed as she sat the bowl of potatoes. “Please, help yourself. There’s plenty of food.”

So that’s exactly what we did. Piled food onto our plates. Poured beverage into our glasses. Grandma had insisted upon opening a bottle of wine. I wasn’t sure why. As far as I knew, tonight was not a special occasion, but grandma had just shrugged and claimed that every day was a special occasion. And I, if anyone could relate to that statement. 

“How is Marilla doing?” grandma asked. “Is she feeling any better?”

“Yes, she’s feeling lots better. Her wound is almost healed. But Jennie says that it’s not time to let her out yet.” Christie took a small sip of her wine and I swore I saw her wince the tiniest bit before continuing: “and I couldn’t let her out in this weather anyway, so...”

“She’ll just have to stay with you for a little while longer then,” grandma smiled. “But you don’t mind that, do you?” 

“No, it’s nice having her around,” Christie admitted. She glanced around in the kitchen and clearly noticed my laptop I had left abandoned on the kitchen island. “Are you writing on something new?” she asked me. 

Now I was the one to wince. “No, not really. I haven’t... I haven’t really been able to write anything for quite a while now.”

“Oh.” A faint blush rose in Christie’s pale, freckled cheeks. “I am sorry. I did not know.”

“And how could you possibly have?” I chuckled and joked: “When you’re an author, you have to be used to people asking you if you’re currently writing something...”

Christie nodded seriously, didn’t seem to take it as a joke. “That must be annoying,” she mused and looked at me with one brown and one green eye. “Being asked the same question over and over again and feeling like you’re being pressured into writing something.”

“I- yes. Yes, that sounds about right,” I said and felt beyond surprised. Christie was exceptionally perceptive. She barely knew me and yet she was perfectly summing up how I felt. 

“I won’t ask again,” Christie said seriously. “From now on, I’ll only bring up writing if you do.”

“That’s not necessary,” I assured. “I don’t mind talking about it.” with you, I silently added. For some reason, it did not tick me off to talk about my writing or lack of with Christie. Perhaps because she was an outsider. 

Her gaze flickered to her plate and she concentrated on eating for a while. I felt oddly lightheaded, so I took a sip of my wine. Perhaps not the best idea when feeling lightheaded, but I felt like I had to do something with myself. I honest to god couldn’t put my finger on what on earth was the matter with me tonight. I sat my glass of wine down and reached for the bowl of potatoes. So did Christie, and our fingers touched briefly like they had yesterday. And exactly like yesterday in the supermarket, I got the strangest feeling. It was almost like receiving the smallest sucker punch to the chest. Had the circumstances been any different, I would of course had been very alarmed by this. Now I was just good old fashioned confused. And like yesterday in the supermarket, I quickly drew my hand back in a jerky movement. 

Christie looked up at me. “Is everything alright?” she asked. 

“Yes, I’m fine. The bowl is just a bit... warm,” I lied. 

Her eyebrows scrunched. “Is it?” she reached out once more and poked the bowl in an almost childlike gesture. Then she nodded. “You’re right. It is a bit warm.”

How nice of her to go along on the lie. We both knew that the bowl wasn’t the least bit warm. 

“I saw Eddie in town yesterday,” grandma suddenly said. “He mentioned that he had talked to you. Something about a VW van?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Christie confirmed. 

“A van?” I asked curiously. 

Her gaze snapped back to me. She lifted her narrow shoulders slightly and adjusted the shawl slightly. “Yes. I once had this... silly pipe dream about buying a van, filling it with books and drive around in Scotland, loaning books to those who didn’t have the opportunity to come to a library or a bookstore. People living off the grid. Or those physically unable to go out.”

“Oh. So like a mobile library,” I said. Definitely a quirky idea, but I definitely liked it. 

“Yes, exactly. But as I said, it’s just a silly pipe dream...” Christie sighed. 

”You can’t be sure of that,” I said. She looked so defeated, and I wanted to encourage her. “Who knows, maybe someday.”

“Yeah. Maybe someday,” she echoed. But it did not sound at all genuine....

As soon as we’ve had dinner, Christie insisted that she had to get home to Marilla. Grandma did try to convince her to stay a little longer, but after having remembered that there was a storm coming and seeing that it had started to get windy, she immediately understood and even instructed Christie to hurry home before it started storming. 

I understood why she wanted to get home before the storm, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. It had been nice talking to her tonight. Really nice. 

“See you soon, Mollie,” Christie said as my grandmother gave her another tight hug. 

“See you, Christie, dear. Are you quite sure I can’t walk you home? It’s getting quite dark and windy.”

“No, that’s alright. I don’t want to chase you out in the cold, Mollie. Not with the arthritis and all.”

Grandma glanced at me. “Helena does not have arthritis. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind walking you home.”

“No, of course not,” I said automatically and hoped that Christie would accept that offer. I was disappointed that she was leaving and didn’t mind getting another opportunity to talk more to her. 

But she did not accept the offer. “No, it’s alright. I don’t want to chase Helena out in the cold either.”

He-LAY-nuuh. Again.

“Very well then,” grandma surrendered. “Come over for dinner again soon, dear.”

“That sounds nice. I will,” she promised as she zipped her coat. She looked at me. “And I will... see you at the book café tomorrow?”

“Yes, definitely,” I assured. “If the weather isn’t bad, that is.” 

“Of course.” She glanced at my grandmother again. “I have the next book in The Seven Sisters series for you, Mollie.”

“Ooooh,” grandma cooed and gave my hand a squeeze. “Then you simply must go over there tomorrow, dear.”

I chuckled. “I’ll try.” A definite promise. I really, truly wanted to spend time in The Storybook Nook.

“Thank you for dinner,” Christie continued, still looking at my grandmother. “It was really delicious.” 

Tiny made a puffing sound that made Christie’s eyes flicker to him. “And Tiny says thank you for the bite he got to taste. He really enjoyed that.”

I tried not to chuckle. She sounded so genuine. Like she truly was speaking on behalf of her beloved dog. 

“He is most welcome,” grandma said and patted Tiny’s big head. “Goodbye, Tiny. You take care of Christie tonight.”

“He always does,” Christie said softly. “Goodbye, Mollie.”

“Goodbye, dear. Be careful when you go home.”

“I will,” Christie promised. Then she looked at me. “See you tomorrow, Helena Frost.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a flush rose in her cheeks and she looked down again. 

“See you tomorrow, Christie Rose Starling,” I parroted good-naturedly and warmly. I didn’t want her to think that I was poking fun at her. 

Her head snapped up. A wrinkle appeared between her eyes as she carefully scanned my face. I wasn’t completely sure what she was looking for, but she clearly did not find it. Because a moment later, she   
smiled. Really smiled. A hesitant smile that blossomed slowly but then made her entire face light up. Her eyes shone even brighter than her surname, and I had never seen anything quite like it before.   
Once again, it was like receiving a tiny sucker punch to the chest. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Could not stop looking at that smile.

But then she turned around and left my grandmother’s cottage with Tiny trailing behind her. I was left with a dizzying, lightheaded feeling. And a sharp disappointment over seeing her leave yet again. 

“She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?” grandma said as she closed the door. 

“Yes... Yes, she is,” I muttered vaguely. Christie Rose Starling was definitely ‘a lovely girl’. And I.... I was feeling something for her. Which was of course ridiculous because it had been all but six days since   
I met her, but that was nevertheless what was happening to me. I was most certainly feeling something for her. But why? I barely know her-

“Brr!” grandma exclaimed and interrupted my train of thoughts. “It’s getting colder. Come on, Nena, dear, let’s go into the sitting room. It’s warmer there.”

I silently let her lead me into the sitting room where I was more or less ordered to sit down on the sofa. So I did. She asked me if I wanted to read and I nodded. But I doubted I could concentrate on reading right now. My head was full of thoughts about red hair and different colored eyes...


	21. Christie 7th of December

7th of December, Shieldaig 07:00 AM

Christie

“There we are,” I said as I ushered Tiny inside The Storybook Nook. “See? I told you we would make it.”

Tiny did not look very impressed. He just wiggled his big body, sending snowflakes and hair flying everywhere. Then he trotted past me. He was most likely heading towards the rug in front of the fireplace.

“Alright, alright, there’s no reason to give me that look,” I chuckled as I unbuttoned my green coat and removed my scarf. I hung both items on the coat rack and then brushed a hand over my sweater. I had been in somewhat of a funny mood this morning, so to lift my spirit a little, I had chosen to wear my bright yellow sweater. The one with the brown belt you had to tighten around your waist. Sometimes I liked wearing belts and sometimes they made me feel like I was being suffocated. Today was a belt day. I brushed a hand over my hair. Shook my head a little and made a million little snowflakes dance in the air. It was still snowing outside. In fact it was coming down quite heavily, and the wind was still going strong. But it was not as bad as it had been last night. The doors had creaked, and the windows had rattled. I had worn two pair of socks to bed and my thickest pair pajama. And Tiny had been snuggling into my side the whole night. Even though the wind had been howling and it had been difficult to fall asleep, it had been quite cozy really. Tiny had been snoring in my ear. I think he had quite enjoyed the stormy night. Or perhaps it had just been the closeness he had been enjoying. 

The roads were closed today. So was the airport and everything. Good thing Helena Frost had delayed her trip back a little. Mollie had looked so happy. That made me happy. I knew that Mollie had missed her granddaughter terribly. I was glad that Helena Frost had decided to come and visit her in Shieldaig. And I was glad that she had decided to stay a little while longer. I was happy for Mollie’s sake. 

I did a little dance on the ‘welcome’ mat. My boots were covered in snow, and no matter how much I stomped, it would not come off. In the end, I decided to just take my shoes off. That was easier. As I slipped off the boots, I noted that I was wearing one blue sock and one grey. Oh well. I had clearly been in a hurry this morning. “We’re rolling with it,” I muttered to myself. At least I had remembered to put on socks. 

“I think we’ll have to get the fireplace going as soon as possible, Tiny,” I said as I came into the circular room where my dog was already snuggled up on the rug. 

He did not react. Perhaps he had already fallen asleep.

I crouched down in front of the fireplace and started stuffing wood in there so I could light a nice fire for us. That didn’t take me long. I was quite experienced in lighting the fireplace now. Feeling satisfied with my own effort, I rose from the kneeling position. Brushed my sweater slightly to ensure that it hadn’t gotten dirty. Luckily, it hadn’t. 

Now what? I looked around in the book café. The little tables were wiped. The fire in the fireplace was flickering merrily. The tarts and cakes on display in the glass cases were ready to be eaten. The books ready to be read. All I needed was some customers. I sighed and tried not to pinch the soft spot between my thumb and index fingers like I often did when I was stressed. That was definitely a bad stim, and I knew it. I was honestly trying my best not to do it so much. 

I walked up to the desk and opened the old cash register. Tried not to despair at what I was seeing. It wasn’t that the cash register at any point had been overflowing with money, but we had always been able to make it through no matter what. But now ‘we’ had become ‘I’, and I honestly was not sure if the book café would still be here next December. Now I did pinch the soft spot between my thumb and index finger. Perhaps I did not have that many customers, but those I had, had always been loyal to us (now me), and I knew how sad it would make them if The Storybook Nook had to close. It would make me sad too. Of course it would. Because even though the book café hadn’t been the initial plan, I loved this place. It was my whole life, and what would happen if it had to close? I would have to get a different job. Perhaps somewhere busy with lots of people. I pinched my skin harder. No. I could not do that. Absolutely not. No, I would have to find a way to ensure The Storybook Nook’s survival. 

“I’ll think of something,” I vowed to myself. “Anything.” I decided that when I got home, I would try and wring my brain in an attempt to think of something. And fast. Otherwise- 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the landline phone suddenly started ringing. Then I sighed. A phone call. What a way to start my morning. I didn’t particularly want to answer the phone. But of course it could be important, so I had to. I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and then went over and lifted the phone. “The Storybook Nook, this is Christie Starling. How may I help you?”

“Hi, Christie,” came Vanessa’s voice in the other end. “This is Vanessa.”

“Oh, hi.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t make it to the book café today,” she said apologetically. “I did want to go, but my parents told me that it could be dangerous, trying to drive when the roads are this bad and all...”

“Of course. I understand,” I said and nodded even though Vanessa could not see it. “Don’t worry about it, the book café will still be here when the roads aren’t icy.” At least I hoped so. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Vanessa said firmly. 

“Alright. See you. Bye.”

“Bye, Christie.”

I ended the call and glared at the phone. I was not irritated at Vanessa for calling me. But I was annoyed at the phone for making so much noise. Stupid phone. Sometimes I wished that I could simply ditch the phone altogether, but that wouldn’t do. I had to have a phone in the book café. She had told me so. 

The door to The Storybook Nook opened and in came Mr. Jensen. Of course. I smiled. No bad weather would ever stop him from coming here.

“Chrissy?” he called as his head whipped around as to registrar any sounds. 

“Right here, Mr. Jensen,” I replied as I went round the desk and came over to him. I gently took his arm. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, lass,” he said warmly. “How nice and warm it is in here. I can smell the firewood.”

“I’m happy to hear that. That means it works,” I said lightly and carefully helped him take off his coat. Then I made sure to hold onto his arm as we slowly moved across the room. Towards the plushy chair by the fireplace. “Do you know which book you want to read today?” I asked him. 

“Oh yes, I should like to read 1984 by George Orwell,” he said eagerly. “It has been years since I last read it.” 

“Well, a re-read never harms,” I said. I was a big fan of re-reading good stories. I helped him over to the chair. Helped him sit down and ensure that he was comfortable before telling him that I would be popping upstairs to find the book.

“Thank you, Christine, lass,” he said gruffly and rubbed his hands together. 

I chuckled quietly as I went upstairs. Chrissy, Christine. He still couldn’t get my name quite right. But lately he had ‘upgraded’ to Chrissy instead of Christine, something he had called me when I first arrived here. Coming to think about it, maybe Chrissy was really a pet name for Christine. Perhaps he still thought that my name was in fact Christine. Oh well. It didn’t matter what he called me. He meant well, and he loved coming here. That was the most important thing.

For a while, Mr. Jensen was the only customer in The Storybook Nook, but after about a half an hour, the door opened, and Mrs. Montgomery came in. She greeted me with a smile, a ‘good morning, Christie’, and asked for a cup of tea, a slice of blueberry tart. And The Perfume Collector by Kathleen Tessaro. I was happy to be able to provide her with all three of the wished items. She settled down in a chair close to where Mr. Jensen, and the two of them chitchatted pleasantly. 

I ventured back upstairs, fully intending to continue the tidying up I had started the other day, but I had barely moved three books out of the shelf before I heard the door open downstairs again. This was one of the things about being here on my own. I had to be available at all times. I had to be both myself and Vanessa. Which was fine, of course albeit a little stressful. 

I headed back downstairs, ready to greet my newest customer with a smile and a ‘hi, what can I do for you today?’, but it soon became obvious that I didn’t have to do the whole speech thing right now. 

Because the customer standing in the doorway was Helena Frost. 

“Oh, hi!” I said and winced because my voice sounded squeaky. 

But Helena Frost didn’t seem to notice. “Good morning, Christie,” she greeted and smiled.

“Good morning,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward and toyed with the chain hanging around my neck. 

“I’ve come to return the book,” she said and handed me All The Flowers in Paris. 

“Oh. Thank you.” Was that the only reason she had come here? I felt unreasonably disappointed. 

“And to write,” she added and looked around in the book café. “I was hoping that there would be an available table somewhere.”

“There’s plenty of available tables,” I said. “So just... sit down.” Wait, was that rude? Ooops.

Helena chuckled and weighted her laptop. “Thank you. I was wondering.... do you have any other books by Sarah Jio? I quite liked All The Flowers In Paris.”

“Sure!” I said, awkward feelings easily forgotten now that we were talking about books. “I’ve got The Violets of March.”

“The Violets of March,” Helena Frost repeated. “That sounds promising. Do you think you could find that for me?”

“Of course! I’ll go look for it right away,” I assured. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

Before turning around, I saw her unbutton her coat and remove her scarf. 

Upstairs, I quickly found ‘J’ for Jio and grabbed the right book. I hoped Helena would like the next one as much as she had liked the first one. 

Coming back downstairs, I saw that Helena had crouched on the floor instead of sitting in the plushy chair like I was expecting her to. She was petting Tiny and talking to him. Telling him that he was a good boy. The sight made me feel all light. “He likes you,” I said, and I saw her tense slightly. Oops. “Sorry,” I offered. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“That’s alright,” Helena said and turned her attention back to Tiny. “He’s such a beautiful boy. You must be so proud of him.”

“I really am,” I nodded, shifting slightly, and feeling unsure of what to do. After a moment, I made a quick decision and crouched down next to Helena so we both were on the floor. I reached out and   
patted Tiny’s big head. He seemed delighted at the unexpected attention. “You’re a good boy, Tiny,” I told him, and he tried his best to slobber me in the face. 

“Tiny,” Helena repeated and chuckled slightly. 

I tilted my head. “Is that funny?” I was not trying to be rude or anything. I just wanted to make sure that I had understood it correctly. 

Helena scolded her features into something a bit more serious. “Sorry, it’s just.... He’s not exactly... Well, tiny.”

“Oh.” Now I chuckled too because I understood what she was saying. “No, I don’t suppose he is now, but he was when he was a baby- puppy, I mean...” I trailed off as I thought back to the day where I had gotten him. The day where she had surprised me with him. I had shed tears of happiness that day. That had been such a good day. She had been smiling a lot that day. Had been feeling good...

“Do you have any animals?” I asked to distract myself. I couldn’t get caught up in the memories when I was at work. 

“No, unfortunately not,” Helena replied. “I’m not allowed to keep any pets in the apartment I live in. But who knows, maybe someday...” she scratched behind Tiny’s ear. “I would like to get a dog sometimes.”

“They’re great companions,” I said vaguely. Now I was getting distracted. Not by painful memories, but by the fact that Helena was still crouched on the floor with Tiny. She shouldn’t be. The carpet could be dirty. Her clothes could get full of dog’s hair. Her expensive clothes. I glanced briefly at her well-pressed, black chinos, white button up and black blazer. She looked like a business woman. Not someone who should be on the floor. “I... I found the book,” I said as I rose from the awkward kneeling position. 

“Oh, super. Thank you. I’m looking forward to reading it,” Helena said as she too rose to her full height. The effect was much more impressive than when I did it. She was so much taller than me. But on the other hand, so was everyone. 

“I was thinking that I would sit over here,” Helena continued, nodding towards the table near the window. “Is that alright with you?”

“Of course. You can sit wherever you want to,” I assured. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“A cup of tea sounds lovely. And perhaps a slice of blueberry pie?”

“I’ve got plenty of pies,” I said, trying not to grin. The more pies I could sell, the better. 

“Wonderful.” Helena took off her blazer, did a little movement with her head that sent her golden hair backwards over her shoulder. Then she sat down in the chair and opened her laptop. 

I left her to it and went into the little kitchen to prepare her tea. I got the kettle going, but as I waited for the water to boil, I couldn’t resist to peek back at Helena Frost. She had just found a pair of glasses in her purse and was slipping them on. She looked like a proper author when she did that. But for some reason, she couldn’t write. That’s what she had said last night. I wondered why, but quickly decided that I didn’t know her well enough to ask her that. I couldn’t just blurt out questions. That was rude. I had to remind myself of that. 

The kettle started whistling, and I poured the water into a mug. Added a tea bag and placed the mug on a tray. Then sliced a piece of pie. I frowned. The slice looked a bit crooked. Oh well. I couldn’t do anything about it now. I found a plate for the slice of pie and put the plate onto the tray as well. Then I carried the lot back into the café. Helena was now sitting in front of the laptop. Glasses perched on the brink of her nose and frowning slightly. As I got closer, I could see her lips move. Maybe she was reading the words aloud. Exactly like I did. 

“There we are,” I said as quietly as possibly as I sat the trey with the pie and tea down. 

“That looks really nice. Thank you, Christie,” Helena smiled. 

“You’re welcome,” I said automatically. 

She reached for the mug of tea, and I looked at her hands. They were slender and almost porcelain colored. Helena Frost did not have any freckles to tell her what was left or right. But she did have slightly long fingers. Maybe that was an author thing. Having long, strong fingers so you could write a lot. Wait, that was a silly thought, wasn’t it? I tried my best to push any silly thoughts away, but I could not stop looking at her fingers. Or, to be more specific, her fingernails. They had been painted red. And shiny. I liked things that were red and shiny. 

But these were Helena Frost’s fingernails. I couldn’t stare at her fingernails. I would end up getting fixated. I forced myself to turn around and stroll back to the desk. Now what? Perhaps I could go tidy up some more...

“Did you get home alright last night?”

“Huh? I mean, I beg your pardon?” I corrected as I turned around again. 

“Well, the weather was quite bad, and my grandmother was a little worried last night,” Helena explained as she looked at me over the rim of her glasses. 

“Oh. Aye, I did get home just fine,” I nodded and winced a little. “And I am sorry for leaving so abruptly last night, but I had to get home to Marilla. I was afraid that she would get scared because of the storm or something....”

“And was she scared then?” Helena asked lightly. 

“A little,” I said. Marilla had been a bit distressed when I returned home last night. It had taken me a little while to calm her. I had given her five drops of the mildly sedating medicine Jennie had recommended for me, and that had made her fall asleep. She had still been groggy this morning. That was why I hadn’t taken her with me to the book café. I figured that she would benefit more from staying home and relaxing. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you were there to make her feel better then,” Helena said softly, but then hastily looked away. 

“Aye. Your nail polish is pretty,” I blurted out. Oh no. That was not at all what we had been talking about. I had changed the subject abruptly when I wasn’t supposed to. But the way she suddenly had looked away had made me feel all flustered and doubtful. Why was she suddenly looking away? Had I done something wrong? Said something wrong? Maintained eye contact a little too long? That sometimes happened. Either I couldn’t maintain eye contact at all, or I was staring to intensely into someone’s eyes. Darn it. This was so difficult. 

“Thank you,” Helena said, sounding slightly surprised but nevertheless happy. “It’s actually a new one. I was feeling bold.”

“Is it bold to wear red nail polish?” I wondered out loud. 

Helena Frost laughed. “It can be. But I’m glad you think it’s nice. That way I haven’t failed completely.”

“It suits you.” There. That was a completely acceptable thing to say, right?

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say.” 

“You’re welcome,” I said somewhat strained. I never knew what to do with myself when people thanked me. And luckily, I didn’t have to think about it for long. The door to The Storybook Nook opened, and in stepped Mrs. Suarez. Or, Ramona, as she preferred. She was a reasonably new customer here in the book café. Had recently moved to Shieldaig after a divorce. She had told me as much the first time I met her. She could be quite chatty. 

“Good morning, Ramona,” I greeted. 

“Good morning, Christie. That blueberry pie looks delicious!”

“Would you like a piece?” I asked. Just to make sure. 

“And an espresso, please.”

“Alright.” I quelled a sigh. That darned espresso machine again. I hoped I could operate it today. Without Vanessa. 

“And I’d like a tragic love story too, please.” 

I had to bite my tongue not to suggest Romeo and Juliet. I don’t think she wanted to read that one despite it being the saddest love story one could possibly think of. “Leave it to me,” I said confidently. I knew exactly which book she should read. Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. Apart from Romeo and Juliet, it didn’t get much sadder than that. I quickly walked upstairs to find the book. 

When I came back downstairs with the book in my hand, Ramona had sat down in one of the plushy chairs. Tiny had curled up by her feet. He always circulated around in the book café to charm the customers. Silly goof. 

“Here you go, Ramona,” I said as I gently laid the book in front of her. “The espresso and pie will be right there.” 

“Perfect. Thank you, Christie.” She took the book and opened it. I noted that her eyes were a bit red-rimmed. Had she been crying? It looked like it. Should I ask if she was alright? No. That would probably be nosey of me. 

I turned around and walked back towards the desk. On the way, I passed Helena’s table, and she looked up and smiled. “This is really good,” she said as she nodded towards the slice of blueberry pie which now seemed to be missing a large piece. 

“I’m happy to hear that,” I said, returning her smile and feeling so utterly relieved. I had been up very early to make pies. And it seemed like it had been worth the effort. 

“I might have to buy a second slice,” Helena continued before taking a sip of her tea. 

“Well, there’s plenty of pies,” I assured and felt very light as I walked back up to the desk. Helena Frost resumed tapping away on her laptop. The sound should have been a sensory issue for me, but it was not. Strangely enough, I liked it. And I liked having Helena Frost in my book café. I hoped that she would be able to write something while she was here....


	22. Helena 8th of December

Helena

8th of December, Shieldaig 07:09 AM

‘Skye, 1969. The weather was cold and dreary. The wind howling in her ear as she slowly rose from her crouching position and peered up. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, and she was desperately trying to make it stop. She knew she had to be quiet. Otherwise he would find her. And if he did....’

“What absolute nonsense,” I groaned. 

“I beg your pardon?!” mum said affronted in the other end. 

“What? No, sorry, mum, not you. I’m just... trying to write,” I said half-heartedly. 

“You are?” she sounded so surprised it was insulting. “I thought that was not what you wanted to do anymore.”

I winced. Trust my mum to always make you uncomfortable. “Well, I have to do something with my time.” That came out way more defensive than intended. 

“Of course,” mum agreed. “But why don’t you apply for a job at a magazine then?”

I gave a vague answer. Perhaps that was what all of this would end up. Going back to the roots. Going back to doing what I did before I quit my job to dedicate myself to writing. 

“I think that could be a good idea,” mum continued. “You’ve written three good books, Helena. That’s more than what most authors can dream of. And it’s always good to have something to fall back on.   
Don’t forget you were well on your way to become an editor-in-chief before you quit.”

“I know, mum.” I suffocated a sigh, knowing full well that that was what bothered my mum the most. That I had been about to get a promotion when I quit. Mum and I had had a bit of a row about it. She hadn’t understood why on earth I’d chose to quit when I was on the brink on getting everything I wanted. Translation: what she had wanted for me. I had quit my job and had finally started writing properly. Ignoring the world had been easy. Ignoring my mum’s constant nagging had been more difficult. I had been visiting her and dad in their house in Devon, and mum had been throwing barbs at me as always. Writing was not a ‘real’ career. What would I do when the book didn’t get published? When. Not if. In one, simple sentence, mum had completely dismissed my new passion. And of course I had been properly ticked off by that. There had been another row. A bad one. To be completely honest, I had been shouting. So had mum. Things could have properly gotten out of hand. They almost had. 

And then the world had blackened around me. That’s when everything had changed. 

“Helena? Helena, are you still there?” 

“Yes, I’m still here,” I said hastily, forcing myself to get off the train of thoughts. 

“So is that why?” mum asked. 

“Is what why?”

Mum sighed. Clearly disappointed in my inability to pay attention to what she was saying. 

“I’m sorry, mum,” I amended. “I’m just a little distracted. Do you mind repeating the question?” I was only asking because I knew she damn well minded. And I was hoping that she would do the thing where she claimed that it hadn’t been important. I was so ready to believe her. 

“I was just saying, is that why you are staying longer in Shieldaig?” mum asked, pronouncing every word very, very slowly. “To write?”

“Yes. And to spend more time with grandma.” Shots fired. I couldn’t even remember when mum had come to visit grandma. 

“How nice,” mum said, and I heard the slight strain in her voice. The barb hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. 

“Anyway, I should get going,” I said, realizing how little I actually wanted to talk to my mum right now. “I have a lot of things to do today.”

“Alright then. Give my best to grandma.”

“I will. Tell dad I said hello. And have a nice cruise.” My not so subtle way of telling her that I probably not would be talking to her before they left. 

“Thank you. I will call you at Christmas. Your father says hello. Goodbye, Helena.”

“Bye, mum.” We hung up and I pinched the bridge of my nose as I put the phone down. It was not healthy, the thing mum and I did, throwing subtle barbs at one another. But she had not supported me   
when I quit my job for writing. Instead of encouraging me, she had discouraged me. I had published three books and she had never once said that she liked them. I had not been able to forget that. And then my health had taken a turn for the worse. Everything else had been swept under the rug. But when I had recovered, all the things under the rug had still been there, and mum and I had never gotten around to talk through it properly. She pretended to have forgotten, and I faked politeness when all I wanted to do was to shout at her.   
We had walked this thin line for over a year now, and I feared that it never would get any better. 

Speaking of not getting better.... I stared at the words I half-heartedly had typed into a word document. Again, more words than I had written in two years, but there was absolutely nothing groundbreaking about it. Another grizzly murder taking place in a remote island. Another cliché. The words looked flat on the page. They did not mean anything whatsoever. 

And I was bringing myself down. I saved today’s pitiful excuse for work and closed the laptop. Stuffed it into the big leather bag where The Violets of March was lying. I had read a little over thirty pages last night. Not a lot, but I had been busy after coming home from The Storybook Nook. I had skyped with Lisa in Miami which had been very nice. It was always nice talking to Lisa. There had been talk about her possibly coming back to London sometimes after Christmas, and that was definitely something I was looking forward to. After skyping with Lisa, I had helped my grandmother shoveling the snow. Or I had forcefully yanked the snow shovel out of my grandmother’s hands while scolding her for wanting to shovel snow on her own. She had tried to insist that she could do it on her own, but one look at her hands had quickly proved otherwise. Her knuckles had been completely swollen, so I had sent her inside to get warm again. 

“Ouch,” I mumbled as I lifted the leather bag off the table and slung it over my shoulder. It was not heavy, but my arms and shoulders had paid the price of snow shoveling. 

I ventured into the small hallway where I nearly ran into grandma. “Mum sends her love,” I said a bit tightly. 

“Thank you, dear. Busy, was she?” grandma asked in that particularly chirpy tone she always used when talking about her daughter. 

“As always,” I confirmed. “Anyway, I’m off now. Should I bring something back?”

“No, thank you, dear. Are you sure you don’t want me to cook?” she asked. 

“No, I’ll cook,” I insisted. “The least I can do after having decided to just stay longer.”

“Nena, dear, you know you’re always welcome,” grandma brushed me off and gave me a hug. “Off you pop. And give my love to Christie when you see her.”

“I will,” I assured and tried not to wince as I grabbed my coat from the rack and shrugged it on. My arms ached, and I was feeling grumpy after the phone call from my mum. The forced polite conversation always took a toll on me. Sometimes they almost made me feel ill, and I always worried about that afterwards. 

“See you later, gran,” I said once my coat had been buttoned. Now I was ready to head out. And forget the bad start of my morning...

Coming inside The Storybook Nook, it did not take me long to realize that I was the only one here. No other customers. But the whole place smelled wonderfully of baked goods and books. That had to be   
two of the best scents in the world. 

I looked around in the book café. The flames were flickering merrily in the fireplace, and Tiny was fast asleep and snoring on the rug. His paws were twitching in his sleep, and I chuckled lightly to myself. He was a funny one. 

But where was Christie? I could not see her. Perhaps she was in the backroom or upstairs. Maybe she would materialize right in front of me like a little ghost. She had done that a few times when I was here yesterday. It had been really nice being here yesterday. The other customers had been chit-chatting and reading, and Christie had been in and out of the room. In that sun colored sweater of hers. I was sort of hoping that she was wearing the same sweater today. It had really suited her. Had complimented her hair color wonderfully. 

As summoned by my thoughts, Christie emerged from the backroom. She was not wearing the yellow sweater, but I was not disappointed because instead she was wearing a blue long-sleeved dress with little white polka dots all over. Her red hair had been gathered in a long braid with a big bow at the bottom. Today she reminded me of Wendy Darling.

“Good morning,” I smiled. 

“Good morning, Helena,” Christie softly greeted and smiled briefly before frowning. “You’re here early.”

Was I? I glanced up at the big clock on the wall. Yes, she was right. I was here early. 

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered. 

“No thank you. Rather a cup of tea, I think,” I said and felt confused. Why was she frowning like this?

“Alright,” she nodded. “Well, you can...” she lightly gestured. “Sit wherever you want.” 

“Thank you.”

Christie disappeared into the little kitchen behind the desk, and I was about to go over to the table I was sitting by yesterday, but I was pleasantly interrupted when Tiny came over to me and nudged my hand. 

“Oh, hello,” I greeted and crouched down like I had yesterday. “Good morning, Tiny. Are you a good boy?”

He yawned and made a kind of ‘arf’ sound. 

I chuckled to myself as I scratched behind his ear. He rewarded me with a lick to my hand. He would probably try and lick my face could he get the chance. 

“You’re a very beautiful boy,” I said and gave him one last scratch behind his right ear before standing back up and walking over to the table I had sat by yesterday. I took off my coat and unzipped the   
leather bag. Found my laptop and opened it. I was already getting that sinking feeling in my chest. I didn’t feel like writing. Even before mum called, I hadn’t been feeling it, but her phone call had only made things worse. I wished that she had not called me at all. That would have been better.

That was when Christie appeared at the table. She was carrying a tray with a cup of tea on it. And a slice of apple pie. “There we are,” she said as she carefully sat the tray down on the table. “One cup of   
tea, and a slice of apple pie with a bit of cinnamon sprinkled on top.”

“Thank you,” I said, and now it was my turn to frown. “But I didn’t order apple pie.”

“I know. It’s on the house,” Christie said lightly. “You look a bit out of it.”

I chuckled. “Is it that bad?”

She mirrored my frown. “Was I wrong? I’m sorry.”

“No,” I said quickly and flashed her a smile. “No-no. You’re very perceptive. I’ve actually had a bit of a bad morning.” 

“Oh,” Christie said. Nothing else. Then she walked off. Crouched down on the floor and lifted the scarf covering a cage. So Marilla was here. 

I took a sip of my tea and quietly observed as she rose from the floor again, grabbed a cloth and went over to the ladder standing leaned against one of the bookshelves. She determined climbed up the ladder with the cloth in her hand, and I almost felt nervous on her behalf. That was one tall ladder. And Christie was one small woman. Anyone could guess what the consequences would be if she were to fall down that ladder. 

But Christie moved with the lightness of a little bird on the ladder, and I understood that my concern was silly. 

“Is the tea any good?” Christie asked and glanced at me over her shoulder. 

“Yes, it’s very nice,” I assured. 

“Good.” There was a moment where she only concentrated on scrubbing the top of the shelf. But then she paused and said: “I’m sorry your morning was hard.”

“It is what it is,” I said lightly and tried to joke. “Parents, you know?”

“Aye,” Christie said and resumed her scrubbing the shelf as she asked: “do they live in London too?”

“God, no. They live in Devon. They prefer the country side over the big city,” I half-chuckled and then asked: “where does your parents live? Here in Shieldaig?” grandma had not mentioned anything about   
Christie’s parents living in Shieldaig as well. 

“No,” Christie replied. “They live in Edinburgh. But we haven’t spoken in a while.” 

“Oh,” I winced. “I’m... I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” she said, and the word sounded more like ‘aight’. “I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.” she said all of it in a completely flat tone and without interrupting her scrubbing of the shelf.   
I eyed her curiously. “What made you chose Shieldaig?” Christie was young, had been even younger when she moved here. As lovely as Shieldaig was, it was not exactly a place you expected a young woman to live. “Why not Glasgow or Aberdeen?” 

Christie shrugged and made the ladder sway slightly. “I’ve always preferred peace and quiet over the hustle and bustle. I’m not a city girl like-“ she cut herself off abruptly and cleared her throat. 

“Like me?” I half-teased. 

“Sorry,” she offered and turned around on the ladder. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“You know,” I chuckled. “I’m not so sure I’m that much of a city girl anymore. It’s wonderful being here.”

“Aye. You can see the sky,” Christie said a bit thoughtfully. “You can’t do that in London. Or Edinburgh. Or Aberdeen.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“I like being able to see the sky. It reminds me to breathe,” Christie said lightly. 

I silently marveled at that. What a sentence. What a perfect, simple yet impactful sentence. 

After a moment, Christie elegantly hopped off the ladder. There was a slight scraping sound as she moved it over to a different shelf, but before she could climb up again, the door to The Storybook Nook opened and Vanessa stepped in. All pink cheeked and bright eyed and dark hair flying about. “See? I told you!” she said triumphantly, Scottish accent thickening every word and making it seem like she was singing rather than talking. “I told you I would be here today!”

Christie who had observed Vanessa arriving with slight surprise in her eyes now laughed. “You sure did.”

I looked at her as she laughed, and there was that feeling of being sucker punched right in the chest. Christie Rose Starling was beautiful. It was strange to think that about a woman I barely knew, but nevertheless, that was exactly what I thought. Christie was beautiful and I liked it when she laughed. I wish she would do it all the time. I distractedly reached for my mug and took a sip of my tea. Knew I was supposed to write but found it so much more interesting to observe Christie as she smiled as Mr. Jensen came into the book café. “Chrissy?” he asked as his blind eyes stared straight ahead. 

“Right here, Mr. Jensen,” Christie confirmed as she swiftly walked over to him and gently took his arm. She carefully guided him towards the chair by the fireplace, making sure to tell him every time there was something he potentially could step on. That sight went straight to my chest too. Perhaps my author-brain was just coming up with big words, but the first sentence coming to mind when thinking about Christie was ‘gentle soul’. She was making a difference for Mr. Jensen. She was taking the time to help a blind man to his chair. She and her book café was making a world of difference to him. 

I knew that I was supposed to write on the mess that hopefully would turn into a decent book at some point, but I could not stop looking at Christie. Today she had told me snippets about herself, but it was not enough. I wanted to know more about this woman I felt so unexplainably drawn to. 

My heart thudded reassuringly in my chest, and I swear, it had never quite sounded like that before. So strong. So determined. Like it had been given new fuel almost. 

Perhaps I was finally waking up after a two year long slumber...


	23. Christie 9th of December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sad chapter!

9th of December, Shieldaig 04:10 AM

Christie

My bedroom was completely dark when I opened my eyes. A quick glance on the numbers on the alarm clock told me that it was 04:10 in the morning. I groaned a little and squeezed my eyes tightly shut. 

True, I was an early riser, but this was a little extreme even for me. 

But I hadn’t meant to be awake this early. Something had woken me. A dream. When I tried to go back to sleep, I could hear her sweet laughter echoing in my ear. I could feel her arms around me. Her wild curls tickling my skin. The dream hadn’t been a particularly sad one. Just the two of us walking down the street while sharing an ice cream cone. It was funny, really. My dreams were always of how our life had been before. Not after. My dreams were always of her smiling and laughing and walking around. Full of life and strength. Sometimes I got a little angry with myself for never dreaming of the last time I’d had been with her. Because that had been beautiful moments. Special, precious moments. Moments that I would forever cherish. It had been exactly as she had wanted. Just the two of us together. No doctors or nurses ‘poking’ or ‘prodding’ her as she once had said. Just her and me cuddled up in the bed. It had been quite peaceful, really. And that was all I could have asked for. 

Only now I was feeling a little sad. Even though the dream had not been a sad one, it always made me sad to dream about her. Dream about how the life we had built together had been cut short. Of course that made me sad. And I felt alone. Which should have been impossible considering how close Tiny was lying to me. He was snoring in my ear and my arm was trapped underneath his massive body. 

“Tiny,” I said gently and wiggled my arm. 

He made a massive snorting sound in my ear. 

“Tiny, my arm is trapped, boy,” I said as I wiggled my arm again. This time I managed to yank it free. He snorted again, clearly insulted, but it did not take him long to go back to sleep again. 

I, however, was not planning on going back to sleep right now. I missed her. I wanted to be with her. And since that was not physically possible, I had to settle for the next best thing. The thing I always did when I was feeling like this. 

I got out of bed and got on my hands on knees. My hair fell around me, but I quickly brushed it away from my face as I scrabbled under the bed. I hoped that I wouldn’t encounter any spiders or other unpleasantries underneath it. I did not. Fortunately enough, I only found what I was looking for. The wooden box. I dragged it out from underneath the bed and took it in my hands as I rose from the crouching position. I ended up sitting in a cross-legged position on the bed with the box in my lap. Once again, my hair fell down on either side of my face, but this time I did not push it away. Instead I concentrated on opening the box. That only took a moment and soon I was once again looking at the velvet inside of the box. I couldn’t count the times I had looked at this box over the past two years. 

“Here we are again,” I mumbled as I carefully removed the letter from the box and unfolded it. I did not need to switch on any lights to read this. I had memorized the words long ago. 

‘Hi, My Love,

By the time you read this letter, we both know what has happened. I’m not around anymore, and I’m sorry about that. I know what it will do to you. 

Christie, baby, I wanna thank you. You’ve been my rock through all of this. You’ve been by my side, supported me and rarely showed how hard this has been for you.

But that ends right now. Now is the time for you to grieve. Promise me that you’ll grieve. Cry. Let it all out. Please don’t keep everything bottled up. Go to Mollie for support and comfort when you need to. I know she’ll help you as much as she can. 

Please don’t seal yourself away in the house, Christie, love. You are a part of this world and I want you to take your place in it. Even though you might not want to. Even though I’m not around anymore. Your life is not over yet, Christie. Please promise me that you’ll remember that. You are still so young. You have so many reasons to live. And god, how I want you to live! I want you to live so much it’s driving me insane! 

You’ve given me so much, baby. I had basically given up already when I met you, but you gave me a reason to keep going. You dared to love me even though you knew what it meant. And you’ve given me the best five years of my life. Five years might not be a lot considering that if things had been different, you and I could have had sixty years together. I don’t doubt for a moment that we would have lasted that long. We totally would have defied the odds and laughed in the faces of those who called us crazy. 

Now it’s your turn to keep going, Christie-coo. I know you might not want to. I know you might feel like giving up. I know you might feel like your life is over, but I guarantee you, it is not. You’re not done at all. You’ve got so many things to do. 

Go out and do them. Continue to spread your love for books. Open the book café every day. Except for Sundays. I demand that you take the Sundays off like we talked about. And one day, you go and buy that van and turn it into a book bus. 

You’ve already given me everything, so it feels cheeky to ask you to do one more thing for me, but I’m still going to anyway. Here it is: 

Go meet someone, Christie. I know, I know. You’re balking. You’re thinking: ‘how will that ever be possible?’ but you know what? It will. You are young. You are not destined to be alone for the rest of your life, and I don’t want you to be. I want you to fall in love again. Maybe not right now, maybe not how you fell in love with me.

Fall in love differently. But fall in love with the same fearlessness. Give your heart to someone like you once gave it to be. Make that someone the luckiest person in the world. Don’t be scared to love again just because I died. Nothing, not even your love could have cured me. If that were possible, it surely would have happen. Please fall in love again, Christie. 

One more thing- and this is gonna sound like a big cliché- but you know what? I might be physically gone, but I’m still not far away. I’m there every time you laugh. Every time you smile. Every time you go all goofy about a book. I’m there for all of it. All you have to do is think of me. Which you will. I would tell you to not be sad, but that would be stupid of me. Of course you’re going to be sad for a while. That’s what happen when someone you love dies. 

But you know what? That part is not gonna happen. One day you’ll be able to look back at the memories and not be sad. I’m looking forward to that day, because I don’t want you to be sad. I want you to be as happy as you have made me.   
Everyone thought we were just stupid kids, but guess what? Even stupid kids can create an epic love story. And that’s exactly what we did!

I love you. I will always love you. Nothing, not even something as trivial as death can change that. 

Yours forever,

N.  
xoxo’

I sniffled to myself and Tiny immediately woke up and started pawing at my hand. “No, it’s alright, boy,” I said gently and patted his big paw. “I need this. Don’t worry. It’s happy tears.” It was. Truly. 

Sometimes I cried because I missed her so much my heart was bursting, but tonight I was tearing up because of her witty comments in the letter. That’s how she had been. Witty. So witty. Dreadfully funny. Many times she’d had me in tears of laughter. 

I weighed the letter in my hand. Looked at the words she had written. The advices she so lovingly had poured onto the pages when we found out that there was nothing more to be done. “Fall in love again, huh?” I asked as I lightly traced the slightly faded words with my fingertips. The first time I had read those words I had indeed balked like she predicted that I would. I had thought to myself that there was no way I’d ever fall in love again. But now I was logic enough to know that she was right. I was only twenty five. Being alone for the rest of my life would not logically make any sense. She would not have wanted that. I could either keep living in her memory and dream of what once had been, or feel contend with knowing that she was still living and loving happily in my heart. Watching me live and grow somewhere from the Great Beyond as we used to call the place, she had to go to in order to get better. 

I wanted to do as she asked me, but it was difficult. Because she had been my person. How was I supposed to find a second... my person? It seemed impossible. 

Still, I didn’t want to disappoint her. “Maybe someday,” I said as I folded the letter and stuffed it back inside the wooden box. “I’ll... I’ll work on it.” that was the best I could do. And I felt a little better. 

Reading her letter always helped. I hopped off the bed and crouched down so I could slide the box back where it belonged underneath the bed. Just as I had done that, I heard a snuffling sound from Marilla’s cage, so I quickly went over there and lifted the scarf. Opened the cage and carefully lifted her up. She was now completely used to me picking her up, and I gave her a little cuddle. She snuffled again, and I chuckled again. It was hard to feel alone when she and Tiny was around....

As a result of my long night, I woke up at 07:00 instead of six. Completely confused and slightly disgruntled, I got out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom where I took the quickest shower I had ever taken. I brushed my hair back and put it up in a bun that probably looked a bit too messy, but there was nothing I could do about that. I did not have time to do anything else. 

I raced back to the bedroom and hauled some clothes out of the closet. Thick, black leggings and a red and blue checkered flannel shirt that was much too large to fit me. That was because it didn’t belong to me. Not really. It had been hers. And she had been taller than me. That’s why this shirt was so big on me. But that could easily be fixed with a belt. There. Now it looked quite modern and not like I was disappearing in it. 

“That gotta do it for today,” I decided as I tugged a strand of hair behind my ear. 

Behind me, Tiny barked as a reminder that he had not been fed his breakfast yet, and I immediately felt annoyed at myself for oversleeping. I hated when my routine was disrupted like this. It was one of the most annoying things in the world. 

“Come on, boy,” I sighed. “Let’s get some food in you.”

Tiny wagged his tail at that.

As he ate, I took care of Marilla. Gave her the daily dose of antibiotics and changed her bandage. By the time I was done with that, Tiny was done eating, so I let him outside to do his business, and as he did that, I slipped on my boots, coat and scarf and gloves. The sky was full of heavy, grey clouds, and I had a feeling that it would start snowing again. Maybe there would even be a second storm. You never knew. It looked a bit windy. 

Tiny barked from the garden to indicate that he was done, and I went outside with Marilla’s cage secured in my arms. “Good boy,” I praised my dog. “Look, we don’t have time to put a leash on you today, so you have to be a good boy and stay with me, okay? No running.”

Tiny barked again, and I knew that he understood what I was saying. Of course he did. He was a smart boy after all. 

Together we walked down the pathway. Tiny patiently waited as I opened the little gate, and he did not immediately rush through it once it was opened. Instead he waited while I went first. And he stayed by my side as I closed the gate as well. 

“Good boy,” I praised. “I’m proud of you, Tiny.” As tiresome as it had been to train a puppy back then, I was glad that I had kept going. As a result, Tiny was one very well-behaved and good boy. My pride and joy. 

Marilla snuffled in her cage, and I chuckled. That was a sleepy sound. Maybe she wasn’t completely awake either. I talked softly to her. Told her that we were almost there. Soon she would be able to relax in front of the fireplace. Maybe she understood what I was saying too, because I soon heard her munch on the chunks of carrots...

There was a surprise waiting for me at The Storybook Nook. That surprise was Helena Frost. She was standing outside the door, shifting slightly to stay warm. Maybe that big fur collar coat wasn’t as warm as it looked like. She was carrying her big leather bag, and she seemed to glancing around. I had not expected that. Her being here, I mean. Usually, I was the first one here. None of my customers arrived before me. That just wasn’t a thing that happened. But of course I was late this morning. That had disrupted things a little bit. And now Helena was here, and even though it was not a part of my usual morning routine with opening the book café, I actually didn’t mind it. 

“Good morning, Helena,” I greeted and congratulated myself with not saying ‘Frost’.

“Christie! Good morning,” Helena replied, and I immediately noted that there was something in her voice. Warmth but something else as well. Something I couldn’t quite make out what was. Immediately, that annoyed me, and I so wished that it had been appropriate for me to ask: ‘what’s that in your voice?’ 

But alas, it was not, and I had to settle for a smile and a chirpy: “are you coming back to write some more?” 

“Yes, or possibly read some more,” Helena said and patted her leather bag to indicate that there was a book hiding in there. “I’m almost done with The Violets of March. I literally could not put it down last night. I had to stay up and read.”

I smiled. That was what a good book did to me. That was what I wished books did to everyone. Continue to spread your love for books, she had written, and that’s what I had done by recommending The Violets of March to Helena Frost. I had done a good job. 

Helena stepped aside, and I unlocked the door. Pushed it open and allowed Tiny to slip inside. He quickly found his usual spot on the rug in front of the fireplace. Then I was the one to step aside so Helena could follow him in. When she had walked inside (though not curled up on the rug), I followed suit and closed the door behind me. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit cold in here,” I apologized. 

“That’s alright.”

It wasn’t. The place was cold. “I’ll get the fireplace going immediately,” I assured as I shed my coat, scarf, and mittens. 

Helena too took off her coat and black leather gloves, and for a second, I was distracted by her hands. Well, her fingers that was. She was wearing red nail polish again. It was still all shiny. And it still suited her hands very nicely. But that was not what I was supposed to be concentrating on. I sat Marilla’s cage down and quickly crouched down in front of the fireplace so I could light a fire in there. 

“Can I say good morning to Tiny?” Helena asked.

“I think he’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I said without skipping a beat. Tiny seemed quite fond of Helena Frost already. 

Helena immediately crouched down on the rug and began scratching behind his ear, and I bit the inside of my cheek not to chuckle. It was strange seeing a woman like her, so polished and considering pencil skirts to be an everyday attire, on the floor with my very large dog. But that just proved that you should never judge a book by its over. When she first arrived, I had judged Helena for not coming to visit her grandmother more often, but now I knew that I had no right to judge her. There could be many reasons why she had been unable to come here. It was not up to me to form a narrow-minded opinion about her. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked as though trying to make up for my previous judgmental thoughts about her. 

“That would be lovely, thank you, Christie,” Helena said from the floor. She was still scratching Tiny behind his ear. “Who’s a good boy? Huh? Is that you? Are you the good boy? Are you?”

Tiny wagged his tail like a little lunatic. 

“In a moment he’ll try to lick your face,” I warned. 

“That’s alright. What’s a bit of dog saliva between friends,” Helena chuckled. 

“That was funny,” I said spontaneously and laughed. That too was spontaneous. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed without thinking about it. I had a thing with hardly ever laughing in the presence of strangers. But perhaps Helena Frost was not such a stranger after all. 

I went into the little kitchen to make tea, and as I waited for the kettle to boil, I peered back through the door. Helena was no longer on the floor. She had gotten up and was walking over to the table near the fireplace. She sat down and found her laptop. Tiny trotted over to her and laid down by her feet. Helena reached within her bag and found a pair of reading glasses. Slipped them on and frowned slightly. Then she began tapping away on the keyboard, and once again I found the sound to be quite soothing. Reassuring in some way. 

Perhaps the night had sort of been rough, but today was going to be a good one. I could feel it.


	24. Helena 10th of December

10th of December, Shieldaig 05:04 PM

Helena

‘Skye, 1969. The weather was cold and dreary. The wind howling in her ear as she slowly rose from her crouching position and peered up. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, and she was desperately trying to make it stop. She knew she had to be quiet. Otherwise he would find her. And if he did.... Bianca inhaled sharply, heart thumping in her chest and blood rushing in her ear. What was the point of running away? Why was she stupid enough to believe that she could actually win this twisted cat and mouse game they had been playing for months? Of course he would find her. Of course that was how this would end. He would find her, and there would be no point in screaming because there was nobody else on this island. Just them. She could run but she could not hide. Sooner or later, he would come for her. His strong hands would grip around her throat and she would feel the tip of the blade sink into her body. That was how this would end. He would kill her. She would die alone and when the life had left her body, he would most likely dispose of it in the water. Nobody would ever find her. No one would ever think of searching for her here. Why should they?  
A sharp, yellowish beam from a flashlight penetrated the dark, and as pulled by a string, Bianca got on her feet and ran.   
“Bianca,” he menacingly called behind her. “Biii-aaanca! Come here, my little dove!”  
Unable to control herself, Bianca screamed...’

I looked at the words I had punched out whilst sitting in the book café yesterday and laughed. Though not menacingly. My laughter was more of a hopeless one. “Gosh, this is so bad,” I acknowledged. ‘So bad’ didn’t even begin to cover it. Every word written looked like the struggle it had been to write it. I didn’t feel anything for Bianca and her mad sprint through Skye. I was not looking forward to writing the climactic scene in which she was murdered. I was not looking forward to describing the whirlpool the murder would cause in Regina White’s life because Bianca had been her girlfriend. I was not looking forward to any of it. Because the writing looked clunky and unprofessional. 

Grandma came into the kitchen and glanced at the laptop screen over my shoulder. “Oh my word,” she said. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. I was tired of staring at empty words that did not mean anything. 

“What a grizzly scene, my dear,” grandma continued. “Gives me the chills.”

I chortled. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I mean it, Helena. It’s a very good scene,” she insisted. 

“Thanks, grandma, but I’m not feeling it,” I admitted. “I mean, I’m writing, but it just doesn’t... mean anything to me.”

She put a hand on my shoulder. “I am sorry, dear.”

“It’s alright.” I reached back and patted the warm, wrinkled hand touching my shoulder. “It’s not exactly anything new. I’ve been suffering from writer’s block for two years now.”

“Perhaps you should take a little break?” grandma suggested. “I’m about to go out on a walk. Maybe you’d like to go with me? Before you have to pack?”

“A walk sounds nice,” I nodded and tried to hide my surprise. Oh yes, I had to pack, that’s right. I was going home to London tomorrow. I had bought a plane ticket and everything. Deep down, I didn’t really want to go home, but at the same I felt like I didn’t really have any other choice. I hadn’t been writing anything remarkable while I was here. I had been too busy reading. And observing Christie. 

Really, that was practically all I had done yesterday whilst being at the book café. I had been worried about her. She had been arriving late at the book café. And she had looked a bit... I don’t know, out of it. There had been dark circles underneath her eyes like she hadn’t been sleeping very well. But apart from that, she had looked beautiful. All that red hair had been gathered in a bun on top of her head, and she had been wearing this checkered, oversized flannel shirt. It would most likely have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but Christie could carry it. Once again, she had reminded me of an elf or a woodland creature...

“Dear? Would you like to go out on a walk with me?”

“Yes, of course,” I said quickly, reminding myself not to daydream about Christie Rose Starling. That would get me nowhere. She was twenty five. A whopping ten years younger than me. Why should she even have the slightest interest in someone like me? A confused woman from the city who used to write but could not anymore because her past was haunting her...

Grandma and I headed out on our walk. Both of us were quite bundled up. It was quite a cold evening. The sun had set a while ago, and grandma and I were slowly walking through the twilight. 

“I do hope you will come and visit me soon, dear,” grandma said. 

“I promise,” I said softly and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. That was not just empty words. I’d had such a wonderful time here in Scotland. Maybe I hadn’t gotten any remarkable writing done, but I had read a lot. And reconnected with my grandmother. 

“Or perhaps you could come and visit me?” I suggested. 

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m afraid I’m getting too old to travel, Nena, dear,” grandma said and genuinely sounded like she was sorry about it. “The old knees and all that. No good for sitting down in a plane.”

“Sometimes I forget how old you actually are,” I gently teased her and squeezed her arm again.

“We can’t all be young women like you, my dear,” grandma chortled. “But I do not feel old on the inside, and I believe that’s the most important thing.”

“I think you’re right about that, gran.” I smiled. Perhaps grandma looked old with her white hair and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes and all those fine lines scattered all over her face. But she had a young heart. She was still full of spirit and love for life. She was easily more vibrate than I was. 

“It’s getting colder again,” I observed and puffed out a breath. It came out as white smoke. 

“It is,” grandma agreed and flashed me a look of concern. “Do we need to stop, dear? Are you feeling out of breath?” 

“No, I’m fine,” I assured and smiled at her. I hadn’t felt out of breath for a very long time. And I was determined to not take that for granted. Before everything, my health was something I never really had thought about. But now I understood that I had to appreciate every breath I took. Every step I was able to take without getting winded was a gift. 

“Let’s continue,” I said briskly, gently squeezing grandma’s arm again. 

And so we did. She chitchatted and waved at Margaret who was checking her mailbox. Margaret returned the greeting and reminded my grandmother to come and have tea with her soon. Grandma promised to do so. 

“You’ve spent a lot of time with Margaret,” I said as we continued down the street. 

“Oh yes,” grandma said lightly. “We have a lot of things in common. We’re both widows. We both drink too much tea and enjoy a good game of cards.” She chortled. 

I chuckled. Or tried to. Really, I just felt guilty. I had asked so little about my grandmother’s life here in Shieldaig. Like my health, I had taken her for granted. Never again. I gave her arm another soft squeeze, told her: “I’ve really enjoyed being here, grandma. Thank you.”

“Why, Nena, dear,” she said softly. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes. Yes, of course I am,” I said quickly. “I’m just.... worried, I guess.”

“About the future?” grandma guessed.

“Exactly.” I lifted my free hand and brushed a lock of hair away from my face. “Brad, my agent was texting me earlier.” I had felt my phone vibrate in my pocket when I left The Storybook Nook, and back home at my grandmother’s place, I had discovered not one but three messages from Brad. And two missed calls. He was impatient. Of course he was. It was my own fault. I had told him that I was going to Scotland to write, and I hadn’t written anything. At least not anything worth mentioning. So I had lied to him. Told him that I was really diving head first into the new story. That I knew exactly what the plot would be. I had even promised to send him a rough draft when I came back to London. A rough draft of what, exactly? I haven’t written anything. I knew how patient Brad had been with me during the past two years. But now his patience was wearing thin. And I had lied about a plot that didn’t exist and a draft that wasn’t even close to being done. Maybe this would be the famous last straw. Maybe he would ditch me. Then I would have to look for a new agent. And who would be interested in being the agent for the woman with the writer’s block? 

“Nena.” Grandmother’s voice was soft and her free hand lightly patting my back vice-versa. “It will come back to you, dear. I know it will.”

“I wish I could be as certain as you, grandma,” I replied and tried not to sound too bitter. It was not my grandmother’s fault that my life was a mess. 

“You’ve been through a life-changing experience, dear,” grandma said patiently. “You wrote a book while trying your best to maintain your health.”

“Writing was the only thing that kept me sane.” It was funny, really. Writing had literally been the only passion keeping me going while I was ill. That and Sarah of course. But then I had woken up in the white room and been so weak and fragile. Then the shift had happened within me. The inexplainable, sudden shift. I had suddenly forgotten who I was. Or so it felt. I had changed. Become withdrawn. And then Sarah had left me. While I was in my most fragile, scared place. Sometimes I wanted to still be angry at her, but deep down I knew that she’d had her reasons. I had been terribly difficult to be around. She said that she hadn’t been able to recognize me any longer. The old Helena, the one she knew and loved was gone, she had claimed before leaving. My physical illness had been replaced with something she could not fight. She had been right. I had changed afterwards. Everything had shifted, and I felt like I was searching for something I didn’t even know what was. 

“Hello, dear!”

I blinked. Looked up instead of looking at the ground. I had been completely zoning out for a moment. “Sorry, what?” I said to my grandmother. 

But my grandmother was busy lifting her free hand and waving to someone across the street. I looked in the direction of the waving hand and quickly spotted Christie. She was standing outside The Storybook Nook with Tiny by her side. She was wearing a purple coat that made her red hair look like it was on fire, and she was clearly in the process of closing the book café for the night. She lifted her hand and waved back, returning the greeting. 

“Come on, dear. Let’s go over there and say hello properly,” grandma said eagerly and wiggled her arm free of mine. 

“Wait up,” I chuckled as she started crossing the street with a speed that was impressive for a eighty five year old woman. As she skittered through the snow, I thought to myself that I was not the only one who was drawn to Christie. But at least my grandmother had an excuse. She had known Christie for much longer than I had. It was only natural that she was drawn to Christie. I, on the other hand, had absolutely no excuse for feeling drawn to Christie. 

“Grandma, wait up!” I called and tried my best to catch up with my eager grandmother. She was walking much too fast in these conditions. The road was covered in snow and treacherous patches of black ice hidden underneath said snow. I was just about to warn her about it, to remind her of the patches of ice and tell her to be careful when I was distracted by the sound of my phone chiming in my pocket. 

I stopped for a moment and wiggled the phone out of my pocket so I could check the message I had just received. It could be something really important, but it was not. It was Brad asking me how the writing was going. And reminding me of that draft. Like I had forgotten that. I sighed as I texted him back. Blatantly lying and telling him that the writing was going well. According to plan. Ha, good one, Helena. Exactly what plan? The nonexistent one, perhaps? You should stop lying to him, you fool. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out that you haven’t written anything worth-

“Oh!” 

The exclamation was followed by a thudding sound and a groan, and I quickly looked up to see what it was about. Grandma was not walking towards the book café any longer. She wasn’t even standing up. Instead she was laying on all fours in the middle of the road. Her knees had clearly taken the blow on the way down. 

“Grandma!” I yelped and threw the phone back in my pocket. Then I started running towards my grandmother. 

“I’m fine, dear,” grandma said half-heartedly and clearly strained. She was in pain. “There must have been some black ice...”

“Stay down!” I warned. I was fearing the worst. You always heard of elderly people falling and breaking their hips, and I was afraid that was exactly what had happened to my grandmother. 

“I was not exactly planning on going anywhere, dear,” grandma did her best to quip, but I could tell that she was genuinely in pain. I almost managed to slip on a patch of ice too as I ran towards her. 

I wasn’t the only one who was running to come to grandma’s aid. So was Christie. She had left the key to The Storybook Nook sitting in the lock, and now she was quickly crossing the street, closely followed by Tiny. Her ponytail was dancing behind her as she ran. She was quicker on her feet than I. She got to my grandmother first and immediately crouched down, putting a hand on my grandmother’s shoulder. “Mollie!” she exclaimed. “What a wee fall you took there! Are you airight?!”

I braved the last patch of black ice and ran the last bit of way over to my grandmother. To help her up. To focus on making sure that she was alright. Certainly not focusing on anything else. Definitely not how Christie’s accent thickened when she was worried. 

“I’m fine, dear,” grandma croaked. “Just feeling like an old fool for falling like this.”

“You are no fool,” Christie said firmly. “The road is icy. Anyone could have fallen. It doesn’t have anything to do with age. Where does it hurt?”

“I think the old knees took most of the impact,” grandma said and winced as she tried to push herself up. 

“Careful now,” Christie admonished as she gently took my grandmother by the elbow and draped it over her shoulder. “Slowly, Mollie. Go slowly.”

Seeing my grandmother’s struggle to get up from the road, finally woke me from my momentary trance, and I quickly came to her aid. Took her other arm and draped it over my shoulder like Christie. 

Together, we helped grandma back on her feet, and she huffed and puffed and complained under her breath: “oh dear, how silly of me, falling like that. I really should have paid more attention to where I was going.”

“It was an accident, and accidents happen,” Christie brushed her off. “Can you walk? Can you wiggle your toes? Does it hurt to put weight on any of your legs?”

“I think it was just my knees,” grandma said and winced slightly. 

“Airight. Let’s go back to the book café,” Christie suggested. “There’s still warm in there, and I have a first aid kit.” 

“I don’t need a first aid kit,” grandma protested. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said, for once ignoring my grandmother. “Let’s go.” 

With Tiny nervously trotting after us, we slowly made it across the road. Grandma had one arm around my shoulder, one arm around Christie’s shoulder and she was hobbling slightly and clearly trying not to wince. And trying to see the best in the situation. “Thank god it wasn’t my hip.”

“Yes, you’re right about that,” I said firmly. That would undoubtedly have been the worst case scenario. But I was still worried about what had happened to grandma’s knees. I dearly hoped that she hadn’t knocked anything loose. 

At last we made it to the book café. Without removing my grandmother’s arm from her shoulder, Christie swiftly unlocked the door and pushed it open. We helped each other getting grandma into a chair. 

Christie fetched a pouffe and encouraged my grandmother to rest her right leg on it. Grandma seemed reluctant to do so, though. 

“’S aight,” Christie said gently. “I know it hurts, but we have to see how banged up you are.” 

“She’s right, grandma,” I chirped in. “Suppose you’re bleeding? We can’t have that.” 

Grandma didn’t look particularly happy about it, but she did not protest either. 

I saw how Christie carefully placed a hand on the inside of my grandmother’s knee, clearly supporting the entire weight as grandma hesitantly outstretched her knee. She winced and I was certain I even heard a few curse words here and there. But she managed to stretch out her leg and place it on the pouffe. 

“You did it. Good job,” Christie praised as she carefully rolled up her trouser leg. 

It was my turn to wince when I saw grandma’s knee. It was indeed bleeding and looked very red and tender. 

“Oh dear,” grandma said. “What a mess.”

“There are some tissues behind the counter,” Christie said. “Do you mind grabbing some and stop the bleeding while I find the first aid kit, Helena?” 

“Of course,” I nodded. 

She disappeared out back with Tiny, and I walked up to the counter and found said tissues. Then I crouched down in front of my grandmother and carefully dabbed a tissue on the wound on her knee. 

Grandma hissed. “I old fool.”

“You are no fool,” I said and pressed the tissue to the wound to soak up the blood. Then I rolled up her other trouser leg and took a peek at her other knee. I wasn’t completely sure how, but that only appeared to be slightly scraped. For some reason, her right knee had taken all the impact. 

Christie came back with a little suitcase full of first-aid things. Plaster. Gauze. Heating pads. Cooling pads. A little scissor. A scalpel. And disinfectant wipes. 

“Has the bleeding stopped?” she asked. 

“Yes, looks like it,” I said and glanced at the three blood-soaked tissues it had taken to stop the bleeding. 

“Good. I can’t see any dirt in the wound, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea to disinfect it just to be on the safe side, do you?” 

“No, I think it’s a good idea,” I agreed. 

“Alright.” Christie crouched down next to me. “This might sting a bit, Mollie. But it’s just to make sure the wound is properly disinfected.” 

Grandma nodded and Christie pressed the disinfectant wipe to the wound. That caused my grandmother to squirm slightly in her seat. 

“Sorry,” Christie said gently. “I know it’s not that nice.”

“It’s alright,” grandma said quickly, and I sighed quietly to myself. Grandma always insisted on not making a fuss.

“Is it very bad, grandma?” I asked softly and took her hand to offer comfort. 

“It stings,” grandma admitted and squeezed my hand as she winced. “But that’s what I get for being an eager fool.” She chortled dryly. 

“There are no fools here,” Christie said firmly as she reached for the plaster. 

I watched as she expertly placed the plaster on my grandmother’s knee and patted the edges to make sure it stuck and didn’t fold awkwardly. “You’re good at that,” I observed. “Did you once train to become a nurse or something?”

Christie’s head snapped up, and I could see her eyes widen slightly. She briefly looked at my grandmother who returned the look. I did not know what it was about, but I definitely had the feeling of missing out on something. 

“No,” Christie said slowly. “But I do have some experience with... caregiving.” She patted the plaster one last time and then looked back at my grandmother. “There we are. I think that’ll do it for now, but the knee might swell up because of the blow. It might be wise to take it easy tomorrow, Mollie.” 

“I promise I will,” grandma assured. “Thank you, Christie. Thank you both of you.”

“It was nothing,” both Christie and I said, and while it was definitely true on my part, I hadn’t done much, Christie was just being modest. 

“How about a cup of tea?” Christie suggested and patted my grandmother’s shoulder. “It’s cold outside and you got a bit of a shock. The kettle is still warm.”

“A cup of tea would be wonderful,” grandma smiled. “Thank you, Christie.”

“S’ nothing,” she insisted and looked at me. “Would you like a cup of tea as well, Helena?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“I’ll be right back,” she said and disappeared into the little kitchen. Tiny right behind her, of course. 

I shook my head a little. You are wonderful, Christie Rose Starling. She truly was. So kind. So gentle. So attentive towards my grandmother. 

“Oh dear,” grandma said and shook her head as she looked down at her plastered knee. “What a way to conclude our walk.” 

“I gave her hand another squeeze. “I’m just glad it’s not anymore more serious than this.” I didn’t even need to consider before making a quick decision. “I’m not going home tomorrow, grandma.”

Her head whipped up. “You’re not?” 

“No, of course I’m not. I can’t just go back to London when you have a banged up knee and needs to take it easy. Suppose you fall again? That would be awful!”

“It’s sweet of you, Nena, dear, but you don’t have to-“

“Grandma, please,” I interrupted and put my hand on her old, wrinkled cheek. “I’ve been absent from your life for quite a while now, and that’s inexcusable. I want to make it up to you. Please let me.”

“You know I do not blame you for anything, sweetheart. You had plenty of things to take care of at the time.”

“Please let me,” I softly repeated. 

Grandma smiled warmly at me and put her hand over mine that still was resting on her cheek. “Alright, then. Of course you can stay. I wouldn’t be speaking truthfully if I said that I have not been fearing the day you are going back. But I don’t want any fussing, do you hear me, young lady?”

“Loud and clear,” I laughed and spontaneously, I bent down and kissed my grandmother’s other cheek. I was relieved. I too had been fearing going back to London where absolutely nothing and nobody was waiting for me. Shieldaig was the place I wanted to be. The place I needed to be. To take care of my grandmother and make sure no harm had come to her after her fall. 

And....

I looked at the door Christie had disappeared through. I could hear her putter around in the kitchen. I could hear her talk softly to Tiny, and a warm lightness spread in my chest. 

Perhaps I was staying for something else too....


	25. Christie 11th of December

11th of December, Shieldaig 08:00 AM

Christie 

I glanced around in the book café. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six customers. 

I sighed to myself. Six customers. That wasn’t a lot. In fact it was worryingly few. Of course, I’d rather have six happy customers than a book café full of unhappy people. And the six customers I had were definitely very happy people. But still, only six people. How was I supposed to keep things afloat if this continued? I had made a promise to her about continuing to spread the love for books. And god knows I wanted to keep that promise, but without any customers? If The Storybook Nook had to close, I couldn’t afford to stay in the cottage. I would have to move away. Find another job in a different city. A bigger city. The thought alone made me shiver, and I quickly pushed it away. The serious thoughts would have to wait until after Christmas, I decided. I wiped my hands on my orange sweater and looked around at the six customers sitting by each their table and reading and drinking coffee and eating a slice of pie. I had baked yesterday afternoon. Cherry pie. It was quite popular. Even more than the blueberry ones had been. Maybe I should make the cherry pies a regular thing. Or maybe I should start make mince pies. Make it a bit Christmas themed to fit the season. But I only had two hands. 

And while Vanessa was great at interacting with the customers, she wasn’t very good at baking. 

I sighed again. Thought about ‘her’ like so many times before. She had loved baking. Baking and books. And her pies had been so delicious. She had been the one baking for the café, and I had been the one to find the perfect book for each customer. That’s how the book café had worked. Until her health had deteriorated. Then Mollie had stepped in and helped with the baking. But Mollie was getting older too. Maybe I should hire someone else. Someone who was really, really good at baking. But that costed money. The ever growing problem that refused to go away no matter how much I willed it to. 

Why did everything have to cost so much money? It wasn’t fair. Breathe, Starling. The last thing I needed was a panic attack. 

Once again, I scanned the circular room and my six customers. All of them looked rather satisfied with their pie and beverage and books, and yet I felt oddly empty. The book café was one customer short. 

Helena Frost was not here. Of course she wasn’t. Today was the eleventh. She was going back to London on the eleventh. That was what she had said during the dinner. I did not know why that made me feel like this. All weird inside. I barely knew her. But I supposed I had enjoyed having her here in the book café. There had been something cozy about listening to her writing on the keyboard. I wondered how much she had written. Wondered what she was going to do when she got to London. Maybe there was someone waiting for her there. A special someone. That made me feel all weird inside too. 

Though not in a particularly nice way. 

“All right there, Christie?”

I looked up and flashed Vanessa a smile. “Alright,” I confirmed. 

“You just looked sort of... far away.”

I bit my tongue not to tell her that that wasn’t possible. I was right here, was I not? It’s just a figure of speech, Starling. Don’t take everything so literal. “I’m fine,” I said instead. 

“Great.” She glanced at the customers and smiled. She saw what I had observed earlier. Happy customers. She didn’t see money trouble like me. I did not have the heart to tell her that The Storybook Nook was struggling. It would crush her. She loved working here. She had told me so about a million times. And so had her parents. Vanessa was being home schooled due to extreme bullying, and it was her mother who in the first place had come to me and asked if I needed an assistant. Vanessa loved books, she had told me. Of course I had been reluctant. Strangers and all that. But once we got over all the awkward things, I discovered that Vanessa did indeed love books. And she was easy to talk to. I considered her my friend even though she was a teenager. That did not matter to me. Age was so insignificant. Just a number. I was pretty sure Vanessa knew that I was not like most twenty five year old women. She knew that I sometimes flapped my hands when getting excited. She’d seen me doing it. She knew that I struggled with eye contact and stimmed by tugging at my sleeve when I felt overwhelmed. She knew all of that, but I guess she was too polite to ask me about it. But if (or when) she did ask me, I had no intention of denying it. I knew who I was, and I was proud of it. That included the diagnosis given to me when I was just six years old. There had been a time where I had been ashamed of it. Ashamed of being different. The diagnosis came with many struggles. Dating was one of them, and I had blurted it out to her on our first date. She had laughed. In a sweet manner, of course. And then she had told me that she already knew. And it did not scare her off. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked Vanessa and forced myself to snap out of it. 

“Yeah, sure, tea sounds great. I’ve worked hard,” she chuckled. 

“You have,” I nodded seriously. “It looks very nice upstairs.”

“Yeah, but did you know we have like three copies of the same book?” Vanessa asked and frowned slightly. “We ought to have a book sale or something!”

“We’re not a book store, Vanessa,” I said automatically and cringed. Getting rid of books? Unthinkable! Unimaginable! 

She chuckled. “I know, but I think it might be a good idea.”

“We’ll see,” I said, letting her down as gently as I could. “I’ll go into the kitchen and make us some tea.”

“Sounds great, Christie.”

I headed into the kitchen. Tiny followed me of course. But he was a bit tired. He ended up laying down right in the middle of the kitchen. He was enormously in the way, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him to move. He’d had a long night. Marilla had been awake and fussy for most of the night. She was growing restless in her cage, and I knew what it meant. It was time to let out of the cage and back into the wild. Her wound was healed, and she was all back to her old self. Of course I had to let her out. She was a wild animal. She belonged in nature. But it was going to be hard, saying goodbye to her. 

Because of course I had grown attached to her. I couldn’t help it. 

“But at least I still have you, aye?” I asked Tiny. 

“Ruff,” he said sleepily and wagged his tail politely one time before giving up and closing his eyes. 

“Alright then,” I chuckled to myself. “You’re not very reassuring, Tiny.”

He did not react to that in anyway. 

I started making the tea and smiled when I heard Mrs. Suarez and Mr. Jensen laugh in the café. Maybe we were struggling financially, but at least my customers were happy. That was the most important thing, right? 

“’Can’t touch it, see it, but you can always feel it,’” I quietly sang to myself. The song had been stuck in my head ever since Julie and I watched ‘Klaus’ on her computer. She had claimed that I ‘had’ to see it. And she had been right. The movie had been right up my street. Even though I had cried when Klaus died and reunited with Lydia in the end. That had been quite beautiful. 

The kettle whistled and I took it off and poured the boiling water into two mugs. Then I reached inside the cupboard and found two teabags. Earl Grey tea. My favorite. And Mollie’s. Mollie. Perhaps I should stop by her place after work. Check how she was doing after she fell and everything. Maybe there was something I could help her with. I could cook dinner for her or something. Or just keep her company for a little while. Maybe she felt lonely after Helena had gone home. She probably did. 

I quickly decided that I would call her after the book café closed for the night. Then I could ask her if it was okay for me to stop by. That was more polite than just arriving unannounced. I popped the teabags inside the water and as I waited for it to switch color and darken, I mentally scolded myself for not having called Mollie earlier. I should of course had called her before the book café opened to check in and ask how her knee was doing. That would have been the polite thing to do. But I had not thought of that. Once again, I had been thoughtless without realizing. I puffed out air. I was definitely stressed. That was why I had missed so many social cues lately. Yesterday, Vanessa had joked that I needed a holiday. Maybe she was right. Maybe I did need a holiday. But where was I supposed to go? 

Back to Edinburgh? No, that was not possible. There was nothing for me in Edinburgh. My parents lived there, but I had absolutely no interest in seeing them. They had made it clear that they didn’t understand me. Ridiculous. What I had done had been my choice. It had nothing to do with them. But perhaps that was the reason why they were so offended. Because I hadn’t asked or discussed it with them. But there had been no reason to discuss it with them. At the time, I had already made up my mind. I had been an adult, so what was there to consider, really? Their reaction had both surprised and disappointed me, so I had decided that I didn’t need them. Sometimes family is something you chose, and I had chosen her. And I would do it again a thousand times if it had been possible. 

I quickly pulled the teabags out of the mugs before the tea got too dark. I didn’t like when tea was too dark, and neither did Vanessa. I left the teabags standing on a little plate. Who knows, maybe we could use them later or something. Then I added milk and sugar to my tea. Nothing to Vanessa’s. She preferred it black. Yikes. But that was her choice. Nothing to do with me. I lifted the two mugs and carefully stepped over Tiny. 

“Here’s your tea, Vanessa,” I said once back in the café. I handed Vanessa one of the mugs. 

“Thanks, Christie. You’re the best.”

“Because I made tea?”

“Yup.”

“Alright then.” I chuckled. I suppose I could live with that. Perhaps there was a career to be pursued if the book café failed. Professional teamaker. 

Vanessa took a sip of her tea and ‘mm’ed’ in approval, and I chuckled quietly again. Maybe I couldn’t figure out the espresso machine, but I could make a very good cup of tea.

“You seem a bit thoughtful today,” Vanessa observed. 

“I do?” I did my best to shrug. “I guess I’m just a bit tired. I was up early to make pies.”

“Oh. If you ever need some help, I could ask my mum,” Vanessa offered. 

“That’s sweet of you, but I’ll manage,” I told her. I couldn’t ask Mrs. McKenzie to make pies for the book café. She was plenty busy with her job as a school teacher. No reason to give her anymore to do. 

“Are you sure?” Vanessa pressed. 

“Absolutely,” I said and tried to sound as steady and reassuringly as possible. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

Her tone suggested that she perhaps did not completely believe me, but I did nothing to pursue the subject. I had to handle this on my own. Somehow. I would find a way. I always did. I had to stay optimistic. About everything. 

That was when the door to The Storybook Nook opened, and in stepped the last person I had expected to see here. The person who was supposed to be on a plane back to London. Not in Shieldaig. 

“Good afternoon,” Helena greeted as she lightly brushed the snowflakes off her grey coat. 

“What are you doing here?!” I blurted out. 

Helena raised an eyebrow in surprise, and I winced. Oops. That had sounded rude. Very rude. Accusingly. But that had not been the intention at all! “I-I’m sorry,” I quickly amended. “I didn’t meant it in a bad way. I’m just surprised to see you. I... I thought you were going back to London?” 

“Oh!” Helena Frost smiled now. Thank god. “No, I decided to stay a bit longer,” she said as she unbuttoned her coat. “After grandma fell yesterday, I felt like going home would be.... Well, it wouldn’t have felt right. So I decided to stay to make sure she’s okay. And I quite like being here.” she glanced around in the book café. “Is there an available table for me?” 

“You know there is,” I said. 

“I do?” she tilted her head. 

“Otherwise you wouldn’t have taken off your coat,” I pointed out. 

She snickered. “Touché, Christie. Touché. I’ll go sit over here, is that okay?”

“Aye,” I said somewhat distracted and watched as she crossed the floor. She was wearing high heels and black jeans and a blue button down. She had tugged the bottom of the button down into the waist band of her jeans. That style suited her. She looked like she was on holiday now. Even her hair looked different. She had gathered it in a relaxed, low ponytail. That suited her too. She looked calm. Relaxed. 

As she reached within her leather bag and found a pair of reading glasses and perched them on her nose, I discovered something. I was happy to see her. Genuinely happy. The book café no longer looked empty.

And...

I found Helena Frost to be... pretty. In fact I found her to be very pretty. I took an extra look at her, but I couldn’t find a single thing I found unpretty. All of her looked.... pretty. 

“How is Mollie doing today?” I asked to stop myself from thinking things about Helena Frost. 

Helena looked up at me. “She’s okay. Her knee was a bit swollen this morning, but we think it’s just the blow. We’re keeping an eye on it.”

“Aye... That’s good.” It felt like my tongue had turned into a dry leaf in my mouth. Communication was suddenly harder than ever, and I struggled to find something to say. It took me almost twenty seconds to remember my responsibilities. “Is there something I can find for you?” that sounded stupid! “I mean, would you like some tea? Or pie?” oh god, that’s even worse. Maybe you should just be quiet. You’ve clearly reached some kind of communication limit!

“A slice of pie would be nice, thank you.”

“Coming up.” I quickly turned around and cut her a slice of pie. Loaded it onto a plate. Pull yourself together, Starling. She can’t read your thoughts. Thank god. I walked over to her table and placed the plate with the slice of pie in front of her. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Christie,” she said softly. “That looks really delicious.”

“I hope it is.” at the last minute, I remembered to give her a fork as well.

“Did you make it yourself?”

“Aye, I... I did.”

“Impressive. I can’t remember the last time I’ve baked a pie,” Helena said and almost sounded a bit sad. “I just haven’t been in the mood. But maybe I should change that.” She dug the fork into the pie and treated herself to a solid piece. There was no crumbs around her mouth when she removed the fork, and I was both relieved and impressed. Helena Frost ate elegantly. That had always been important in my book. 

“But no matter what, I won’t be able to make a pie that’s half as good as this,” she said after having swallowed. 

“You won’t know that until you’ve tried,” I said lightly, but I was secretly pleased. It had taken me a long time to master the art of making pies. But while I was good at it, I still wasn’t half as good as the woman who had taught me to make pies in her first place. Her... 

A sigh brought me back to reality. Helena Frost had found her laptop and was now looking at the screen. “Speaking of things I haven’t been in the mood for,” she muttered and tapped half-heartedly at the keyboard. 

“You don’t like writing anymore?” I asked. 

She looked at me. “I don’t know. As an author, I probably shouldn’t say yes, but lately...” she didn’t finish the sentence. Just winced as she looked at the laptop screen. 

“I have never read any of your books,” I said thoughtfully. “But maybe I should try it.” it almost seemed impolite not to, and honestly, I was intrigued. Of course I was. A book I had never read. Impossible. “’Right here in the Darkness, was it?”

“Yes, but just don’t get too attached to the characters,” Helena said and chuckled a tad darkly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get back to them. They haven’t spoken to me lately. And neither has the story.”

“Well, why you just write something else instead?” I suggested distracted. Her red nail polish that reflected the light every time her fingers moved across the keyboard had claimed my attention. 

But suddenly, her fingers stopped moving. She stopped writing, and the lack of movement caused me to look at her face. She was looking at my face, and I couldn’t quite read her expression. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that she was surprised. 

“Something else?” she repeated. Her eyebrows rose. 

I felt myself flushing and balked without fully understanding why. Had I said something wrong again? Had I blurted something out without thinking? Maybe I had insulted her in some way. 

“You know, I’ve never thought of that,” she said thoughtfully and quietly. Her blue eyes gleamed slightly. Cerulean blue. The prettiest shade of blue there was. But maybe her eyes were dangerous. I could certainly feel my palms going sweaty and my heart thrumming in this awkward rhythm in my chest. Was it the amount of eye contact that suddenly flustered me? Most likely. I was no good at maintaining eye contact for this long... 

“Well, I....”

“Christie? Your tea is getting cold,” Vanessa called and interrupted my next sentence. Whatever that would have been. I felt grateful about the interruption. I probably would have said something stupid anyway, so... 

I quickly turned around and walked back to the desk where I had left my mug of tea. I lifted it, brought it up to my lips and took a small sip. I immediately choked on the sip and coughed. Helena Frost looked concerned at me, and I could feel my cheeks flush as I looked away. It would appear that I was suddenly malfunctioning. Just because I had maintained eye contact with Helena for a little too long. 

Just because I had come to the realization that Helena Frost was pretty.......


	26. Helena 12th of December

12th of December, Shieldaig 04:00 PM

Helena

Well, why don’t you just write something else instead?

I stared at the word document in front of me. Five thousand six hundred words. Five thousand six hundred words that meant absolutely nothing. Five thousand six hundred words of utter nonsense. Of people nodding and smiling and pretending to be alive. They were not. Anyone could see that. 

Well, why don't you just write something else instead?

I deleted a word and replaced it with another. Like that would change the entire story. Like the plot somehow would get way better because of that one little change. 

Well, why don’t you just write something else instead?

Christie’s innocent question yesterday had opened a completely new door in my mind. I was not sure how to close that door and whether I even wanted to close it. The question had blown me away. Perhaps even shocked me. Because I was an author of thrillers. Helena Frost wrote crime novels. That much was certain. That was the genre I knew. The genre I mastered. I had never even considered straying. Let alone throw myself into a different genre.

But what if I could master something else too? What if my writer’s block wasn’t a common writer’s block? What if I simply needed to write something different? Something that did now have young women running through a bog and trying to escape a knife-wielding lunatic? What if straying from the genre I knew was exactly what I needed to do? 

Once again, I stared at the words I had struggled to write. I ran my fingers through my hair. Tugged a bit. Squinted behind my glasses as I quietly murmured the written words to myself. Those insignificant, flat words. The old me would immediately have been transported to Skye. She would have been right there in the bog with her nameless victim. She would have observed the struggle, nodded to herself and immediately considered what could be done better. But I did not have that urge. I didn’t get transported away. But I was not the old me. My life had changed. I had changed. And perhaps I needed to write something that reflected that. Something... different.

Well, why don’t you just write something else instead?

“Why don’t I just write something else instead?” I asked aloud. 

“Did you say something, dear?” grandma asked as she hobbled past me.

“Yes, I said ‘why don’t I just write something else instead’,” I repeated before quickly changing the subject. “What are you doing? You are supposed to take it easy. If you need anything, you can just tell me. I’m here to help you.”

“I have to go to the loo,” grandma grumbled. “And while I might be old, I haven’t quite reached the state where I need your help for that.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

She continued her hobbling towards the loo, but then stopped with one hand on the back of a chair. “What do you mean with writing something else?” 

“I’ll tell you once you’ve been to the loo. I don’t want you to stand there and put pressure on that leg. Off you pop.”

Grandma chuckled as she continued her hobble towards the loo. I offered to lend her a hand, but of course she refused to take any help. She could use her walking stick if she needed to. She did not need any help, thank you very much. 

I turned my attention back to my laptop. Looked at the five thousand something words I had written. There was a time where I would have guarded those words with my life. I would have obsessed over them. The first, delicate beginning of a new novel. There was a time where my fingers would have itched to continue the writing process. Now my fingers were itching to do something else. Something that once had been my worst nightmare. The worst thing imaginable. Now I was doing it willingly. I marked all the pages I had written. And then I clicked ‘delete’. Just like that. No ‘are you sure?’ notifications.   
No warning. Just one tiny click. Poof. Now the words were gone, and all there was left was a blank Word Document. And I felt ridiculously free. No commitments. Regina White was no longer staring accusingly at me from the document, demanding that I wrote about her. 

“Sorry, Regina,” I said without feeling very sorry. “But I think your time might be over.” It certainly felt like it. I had written three good books. ‘Somewhere in the Darkness’, ‘Lurking in the Darkness’ and   
‘Right here in the Darkness’. All the reviewers agreed that ‘Somewhere in the Darkness’ was a ‘strong debut’, ‘Lurking in the Darkness’ was the ‘strong follower’, and ‘Right Here in the Darkness’ was ‘the weak one’. Harsh words, but they made sense. I had been ill while writing ‘Right Here in the Darkness’. I had been fading. Hadn’t felt good. Of course the book and writing style reflected that. Maybe that was the reason why I felt like I needed to write something new. Because my last novel reminded me of illness and grey days. 

The blank page stared back at me. So empty. So full of opportunities. What would grow on that page? I felt a flicker of excitement as I imagined what I could write. Historical fiction. Science fiction. Erotica.   
Romance. Anything, really. This blank page was my oyster. I chuckled to myself, and as I did so, my grandmother came hobbling back into the kitchen. 

“Do you need any help?” I asked, eying her concerned. I didn’t like that she was still hobbling two days after the fall. That worried me. If it continued, I would have to persuade her to go to the doctor. 

“No, of course not,” she dismissed and huffed slightly as she plopped down on the chair. It was very obvious that she was wincing, but before I could address it, she said: “now dear, tell me why you are grinning like the Cheshire cat?” 

“I am not doing that,” I protested even though I had a feeling she was right. 

She ignored that and inquired: “what has happened that has made you smile like that?” 

“Well,” I reached out and patted her hand briefly. “Yesterday someone said something to me that really made me think.”

“Alright?” grandma said slightly confused. “Who said something to you?”

“It was actually Christie,” I revealed and felt how just saying her name made me feel all warm inside. 

“Christie?” grandma repeated, voice warm. “Yes, she often says things that’ll make you think. But can you specify what she said?”

“Well, I was complaining about my lack of inspiration to write the next novel in the Darkness series, and she said.... ‘why don’t you just write something else instead?’ the way she said it, gran... she made it sound so...... easy, and I’ve realized...” I took a quick break to breathe and then continuing: “maybe it is that easy. Maybe I have writer’s block because I have been limiting myself to one genre. I’ve been stressing myself. Forcing myself to punch out a fourth book in the series, but... I don’t think I want to. I think I want to try something new, so.... I’ve deleted what I’ve written so far.”

“You have?” Grandma asked. She didn’t sound shocked. Just surprised. “That was very spontaneous of you, Nena.”

“I know. But I think it’s the right thing to do, Gran. The new novel has been stressing me-“

“And the doctor did warn you of stressing yourself unnecessarily.”

“That’s right. I can claim that I’ve been taking care of myself for the past year and a half, but it’s not true. I’ve been stressing about the new novel. And then I’ve been stressing about not writing the new novel. This...” I nodded towards the blank Word Document filling my laptop screen. “Is what taking care of myself looks like. A blank page. Starting from scratch. I don’t know when yet. I don’t even know what I’ll write about yet. But... this is how I’m going to do things from now on. Write because I want to. Not because I have to.”

Grandma squeezed my hand and flashed me a warm smile. “I’m proud of you for making such a healthy decision about the future, Nena, dear. I’ve been concerned about you, but now I don’t think that will be necessary anymore.”

“No, I don’t think so either,” I smiled. Amazing. I felt so calm. Completely certain that I had made the right choice about this. I didn’t need to punch out another book in the Darkness-series. I needed to do something completely new.

“And all because Christie said something,” grandma half-chuckled. 

“I know. I guess you could say she hit the head on the nail.”

“You’re fond of coming in the book café, aren’t you?” Grandma asked. 

“Yes, of course. It’s a very nice place,” I said warmly. “No doubt about that.”

Grandma tilted her head and eyed me curiously. “And Christie?” 

“What about Christie?” I asked and noted that my heart had started to thrum a little in my chest. 

“Are you fond of her, too?” grandma asked plainly. 

“Well, I...” I bit the inside of my cheek and suddenly felt like a silly little school girl and not a full grown thirty-five year old woman. 

Grandma found my sudden inability to talk amusing. She chuckled as she patted my hand. “I’m an old woman, Nena, dear,” she said. “I notice things. And I have noticed the smile you’ve been wearing every time you’ve come home from the book café. You’ve been chatty. But you haven’t talked about your writing at all. Instead you’ve been talking about what books you’ve been reading.” Her smile widened. “And Christie. You’ve been talking a lot about her too.”

“She’s a nice person,” I said vaguely. “She’s easy to talk to. The type of person you easily can become friends with.”

Grandma chuckled. “Oh, Helena. Do you honestly think I’m gonna fall for that rubbish? I might be old and stiff-kneed...” she winced a little as she adjusted on the chair. “But I am still able to see what’s right in front of me. You are fond of her. And more than in the friendship way, isn’t that right?” 

What was the point of lying to grandma? I was not some silly little school girl. I was a grown woman. And I was well beyond the point where being fond of someone was a secret. “I am,” I admitted. “I am fond of Christie. Very fond.”

Grandma’s smile widened. “I knew it. I am so happy for you, dear.”

I sighed. “I think it’s a little too early to be happy for me, gran. It’s... It’s not that easy. I care a lot for Christie, but I barely know her. I have only just met her, and to be honest, I’m confused. I don’t understand why I feel all these things for her so fast.”

“Perhaps ‘love at first sight’ isn’t just for the books?” Grandma suggested. 

I skeptically raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I believe that. It seems so... silly. And she’s so young.” 

Grandma opened her mouth to say something, but I continued before she could: “no, she is, grandma. She’s twenty five. Ten years younger than me. That’s somewhat of an age-gap, don’t you think?”

“Christie is mature beyond her years,” grandma said softly. “There’s more to her than meets the eye.”

The way she said it made me pause. Curiosity reared its head, and I tilted my head as I looked at my grandmother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

To my surprise, grandma seemed to backpedal at that. Her expression turned somewhat somber. She gave my hand a little squeeze. “I’m certain Christie will tell you that herself. When she’s ready.”

That did not lessen my curiosity at all. But I knew better than to ask grandma. She was not the type who would ever betray another person’s trust by telling their secret. And I didn’t want her to be. 

Especially not when it came to Christie. 

“Alright,” I said. I definitely should not have asked the next question. It made me sound like a silly teenager. But I couldn’t help it: “do you think that there is a chance Christie could be feeling the same about me?” 

The immature question was met by an amused eyebrow and a slight chuckle. “Why don’t you just ask her yourself?” grandma asked simply. 

I cringed. “Yeah, no, I don’t think that’s going to work.” I could really not imagine just blurting out that kind of question to Christie. 

“Why ever not?” grandma huffed. “You young people and your communication issues!”

That was when my phone started blaring. I was grateful. I had a feeling that grandma and I had reached some kind of wall when it came to viewpoints on relationships. I quickly wiggled the phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen. “Oops, that’s my agent,” I said. “I better take this so I can break the happy news to him. On a scale on one to ten, how happy do you think he’ll be?”

“Oh dear,” grandma said as she with some trouble stood from the chair and hobbled inside the living room. “When you’re done, I think we should order in. Maybe some pizza.”

“That sounds good. I won’t be talking for long,” I promised as I slid my index finger across the screen and then brought the phone up to my ear. “Hello, Brad.”

“Helena!” he greeted in the other end. “How’s the highland life treating you? I can understand that you’ve extended your stay again?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I confirmed. 

“Alright. And when exactly are you coming back to London?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said truthfully. 

“Are we talking a week? Two weeks?”

“I don’t know, Brad,” I replied. “Maybe even later than that. I enjoy being here. It’s good for me.” 

There was a beat of silence, and I was pretty certain that Brad currently was trying to figure out what in the world made me stay in a tiny Scottish village when I could be back in my penthouse apartment in London. That flat had never meant less to me. 

“Alright,” Brad said a bit tightly. “You do what you think best, Helena. I hope this longer stay means that you’ve written a huge chunk of your upcoming ‘sinister-Scottish-highland-murder’. Do you have a title yet? Obviously, it has to be something with ‘darkness’ like the other books.”

“Brad-“

“I think I might have an idea, Helena! What about Finding the Darkness? I think that would be kind of fitting seeing that Regina will be fighting her own demons in this one!”

“Brad-“

“Or how about Becoming the Darkness?” he eagerly suggested. “Maybe that’s even better. I know you haven’t sent me the blurb yet- I’m getting a bit impatient, actually- but from the things you’ve told me, this book will focus mostly on Regina and her inner demons, so Becoming the Darkness is a very fitting title don’t you-“

“Brad!” I interrupted. “Could you please listen to me for a second?” 

“Of course. Sorry. You’re the boss, Helena.”

I drew in a breath. This was it. I had to tell him. Maybe I wouldn’t have an agent in a second, but I had to say what was on my mind. Even if it would cost me Brad. “The thing is,” I said slowly. Then I ran out of words. 

“What is it Helena? Did you get stuck on a chapter?” Brad asked and sounded slightly concerned. “That would be unfortunate. You’ve just gotten back in the writing game again. But you’ll get past it. You’ve done so every time.”

“No. I didn’t get stuck on any chapter, Brad,” I said. “Because there won’t be any more chapters.”

“Excuse me?!”

“There won’t be another book in the Darkness series, Brad. I can’t do it.” 

“Helena-“

“No, hear me out, please.” I gently interrupted. “I’ve been pushing myself to write this book for a while now. I’ve literally been coaxing myself into punching words out. I’ve assumed that I just had to get back in the game again. Get to know my characters again. But I’ve tried that, and... it’s just not working. I mean, I can write 1,500 words or 2,000 words. But the words don’t mean anything to me. The characters don’t mean anything to me any longer. I was ill when I wrote the last book. Maybe that is what’s influencing me now. Writing about these characters reminds me of the darkest chapters of my life. I think about a time where I was fading and everything was dark and gloomy and not the characters when I write this novel, and that...” another breath. “Is not good for me. I have to take care of myself, Brad. I haven’t done that properly for the past two years. I realize that now. Trying to write this novel is not doing me any good, so... Well, to be completely honest with you... I’ve deleted it.”

“D-deleted it?” Brad stuttered. 

“Yes.”

“All of it?” now he was almost croaking. 

“All of it,” I confirmed. 

Another beat of silence where all I could hear was his erratic breathing. Had the situation been any different I probably would have laughed and told him to quit doing that. But this was a serious matter. Right now, I was every agent’s worst nightmare. 

“Have you.... lost your mind?!” he almost screeched. 

“Maybe,” I said lightly. “Or maybe not. Maybe I’m actually in the process of finding my mind.”

“Helena-“

“I know that it sounds barmy, Brad. I really do. But I have to write something that means something to me. And this doesn’t. Maybe it will do again someday, but for right now, I can’t continue the Darkness series.”

“What about your readers?” he demanded. “They expect you to finish the series. They deserve-“

“They deserve a good novel,” I interrupted a tad sharply. I did not like the tone nor direction this was taking. “They deserve to read a novel where they can feel that I care about my characters. Not something that’s forced. That’s what they deserve. And for the record... I write for myself first, Brad. Not my readers, not you. Me.”

“Alright,” Brad sighed. “Alright, I hear what you’re saying, Helena. I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright.”

“Are you going to write something else then?” he asked hopefully. 

“Yes,” I said. “I just don’t know what that something is yet. But I have a feeling that it’ll come to me very soon.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring, Helena.”

“And it isn’t. I can’t blame you if you want out of it,” I said simply. Brad was a business man through and through.

He sighed in the other end, and I imagined him rubbing a hand over his face like he always did when he was particularly frustrated. “I’m probably insane for doing this,” he growled. “But I’m going to stick around. You’re a phenomenal writer, Helena. The Darkness series was a major hit almost immediately. There’s a reason why HBO is considering to turn it into a series. So yes, I’m sticking around. I want to be here to see whatever you’ll come up with next. Whenever that will be.”

“I really can’t say. It might be a while,” I warned. 

“That’s alright. Take your time. And give me a call when you have something. Whether it’s just a rough idea or a blurb.”

“I will. Bye, Brad. And thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Frost,” he half-joked. “Enjoy your pause. Then I’ll try my best not to despair over the deleted pages. Bye.” 

With that, he was gone, and I chuckled to myself as I felt a lightness spread in my body. I was free. There was no unfinished novel glaring at me from the laptop screen. Only a blank document. A world of opportunities. I had a feeling that there was another story inside me just waiting to be written. I just didn’t know what it was it. Didn’t know what genre. Didn’t know what era or setting. But I couldn’t wait to find out!

And in the meantime, I could try and figure out my growing feelings for Christie. And more specifically, what to do with them......

I groaned.


	27. Christie 13th of December

13th of December, Shieldaig 06:30 AM

Christie

“Sunday!” I said contently as I stretched in bed and hugged Tiny into my side. He snuffled in his sleep. Perhaps he wasn’t quite ready to wake up yet. It was still fairly early, only 06:30. One could argue that I could have slept in because it was Sunday, but I was an early riser. That was just how it was. And besides, I had plans today. Not wild plans, but nevertheless plans I was looking forward to. 

“Come now, Tiny,” I said softly and nudged my lazy dog. “Time to get up, boy.”

Tiny burped in his sleep. 

“Aight then,” I chuckled as I sat up in bed and pushed my hair out of my eyes. I lifted my arms and spread them wide. Just to wake my body and stretch a little. I rolled my shoulders and turned my head back and forward a few times. There was this slight popping sound in my neck, and I knew that the movement had served its purpose. Now I was ready for the day. I got out of bed and stretched my arms upwards. Tried my best to ‘reach the ceiling’ even though I knew that wasn’t possible. I was not nearly tall enough to reach the ceiling. But of course that shouldn’t prevent me from trying. As I balanced on my tippy toes, I remembered how much she had laughed the first time she saw me doing it. And even more so when I told her that I was trying to reach the ceiling. Back then, I had taken it literally and thought that I actually had to reach the ceiling. But then she had explained to me that it was just an expression, and then we had laughed. But she had laughed in a nice way. Not at me but with me. 

“It’s a stupid expression anyway,” I decided and lowered my arms again. “Don’t you think, Tiny?” 

Tiny did not react. In fact he had curled up under the covers. Perhaps he was trying to be invisible. 

I chuckled. “If you think that’s how you’re spending your Sunday, you got another thing coming, buddy. Don’t you want any.... food?”

As on cue, Tiny’s head popped up from underneath the covers. His ears perked up, and he licked his nose. 

“I figured. You’re so predictable. Come on, let’s find you some food!”

That made him jump down from the bed, and before I could even as much as blink, he was standing next to me. Together we ventured into the kitchen where I filled his food bowl. While he ate, I filled his water-bowl with fresh water and then glanced out of the window. The sky was almost sharply blue, and the sun was beating down and made the snow all glittery. 

“We’ll have to get out in that later, Tiny,” I murmured, more to myself than to him, really. He was much too busy eating to pay attention to me and my musings. 

Once he was done eating, I let him outside in the yard to do his business. I left the door open so he could come back inside when he wanted to. The fresh air made me feel even more awake. And hungry. I was in the mood for a big breakfast. Funny. Ordinarily, I preferred something simple in the morning, but today I was in the mood to celebrate this Sunday for no reason. I hummed to myself as I opened the fridge and found a pack of bacon. I put it on the table and opened the cupboard where I knew I had some pancake mix. I was still humming to myself, and a part of my brain wondered how the heck ‘Believe’ from The Polar Express had popped into my head. Perhaps I should watch it later. I hadn’t been in the mood for that in a long time. The Polar Express had been her favorite Christmas movie, and the memory of us watching it together had made me refrain from watching it again. But perhaps I was ready for it now. 

As I was frying the bacon, Tiny of course came back inside. He trotted over by my side and sniffed into the air, clearly approving of the smell. 

“One piece,” I sternly told him. “When I’m done eating, you can have one piece of bacon. No more. And no begging, okay?”

He licked his nose, and I chose to take that as a yes. 

After the bacon came the pancakes. It was just from a box. I was not in the mood to make the mix from scratch, but the sight of the thick, golden pancakes still made my mouth water. It didn’t take that long to make the pancakes, and I proceeded to fry the sausages next. “It’s been too long since I last made a fry-up,” I said to Tiny. “I wonder what’s the matter with me?” I was feeling particularly energetic and bubbly this morning. Perhaps because it was Sunday and I for one day could stop worrying about the book café. Or maybe it was because of the plans I had made for myself. 

When the pancakes were done, I cooked the other things. Fried eggs. Fried bread. Baked beans. I skipped the tomatoes and mushrooms. I had never liked either of those things. But I made myself some porridge. I was Scottish, after all. Porridge was nice. The consistent had never been a problem for me. 

“There,” I said when all the things were done. I was ready to eat. I had even made a cup of tea. The kitchen looked messy, but I reminded myself that it could wait. I had to eat the food while it was still hot. Otherwise all the time and hard effort would be wasted. 

“I think this is going to be delicious, Tiny,” I said as I reached into another cupboard and found a plate. A very special plate. My food cubby plate divider. It did exactly what it said on the label. It made sure that my food stayed separated and did not touch. I couldn’t stand the idea of my bacon meshing with the baked beans. The thought alone made me feel a little sick. Soggy bacon was the worst. The whole thing with food touching had actually been a big problem my whole life. Perhaps not as much when I was a child and was spoon-fed, but later, food touching other food had grown into a phobia for me. My parents had scoffed and called me silly. They hadn’t understood it. But she had. She had seen how much I struggled with eating. How I obsessively had scraped my fork over the plate to ensure there was clear lines between my food. She had never addressed it, but for my next birthday, she had given me the cubby food divider. She had been anxious when I unwrapped the present and saw the plate. Before I could even say anything, she had said that she was not trying to infantilize me in any way. She had just noticed how I kind of struggled with food, and she wanted to make it easier for me. 

She had goggled various things before settling on the cubby food divider. I know it looks a bit childish, she nervously had said. But I’m not trying to make you look like a kid. I just wanna help you.

I had been overwhelmed by the present. I had hugged her. Kissed her. Laughed and thanked her again and again. Her thoughtfulness had touched me so much and I had used the cubby food divider ever since. And my sensory issues had not been a problem ever since. The plate had become one of my most loved items. 

I loaded all the food onto the plate, satisfied with now none of it touched. The bacon by itself. The baked beans by itself. Perfect. The suction cups in between each ingredient did their job still.

“You know what I think, Tiny?” I said aloud as I carefully carried the plate, cutlery, and mug of tea over to the kitchen table. “I think today is gonna be a good one. And do you know why I think so?”

Tiny tilted his head, clearly waiting for some massive point. 

“Because I want it to be,” I said simply. Today I was taking a page out of Anne of Green Gables. Not literally of course, but I was following one of her beliefs. That you can always enjoy things if you make up your mind to do so. And right now, I was going to enjoy my breakfast. My very delicious breakfast. 

“Mmm,” I said appreciatingly as I chewed my way through the first crispy piece of bacon. “This is well made if I do say so myself.”

Tiny licked his nose again. His blue eyes were silently begging me for a piece. 

“Later,” I gently told him and smiled. This was a nice way to start the day...

Once breakfast was done (and Tiny had gotten his piece of bacon), I washed the plate and mug and cutlery under the warm stream of water. The rubber gloves I was wearing was irritating my skin, but rather that than exposing my hands to the warm water and harsh soap. I didn’t have a dishwasher. Horribly impracticable as Mollie once had said, but I was fearing that I wouldn’t be able to work out a dishwasher. And I didn’t really need one. I was only one person. Why get a dishwasher for just one person? That would be silly. 

When the dishes were clean, wiped and put away in various cupboards, I went back upstairs and took a quick shower. Today was not one of the days where I needed lots of hot water. Today was more of a ‘quick-lukewarm-shower-so-I-can-continue-with-my-day day. Once I was done showering, I quickly toweled myself off, pulled my hair away from my face and into a loose bun on top of my head. It looked messy, but I wasn’t going anywhere. This was good enough for a home-day. 

Naturally, Tiny was waiting for me outside the bathroom. I didn’t want him to be in the bathroom with me while I was showering. There had been this one time where he suddenly had poked his head inside the shower and nearly frightened me to death. That had not been funny at all. 

Back in the bedroom, I slipped off the robe and put on my underwear. Nude colors. Soft material. Lace and whatnot had never been an interest of mine. I preferred soft and comfortable and practical. 

“Let’s see,” I mused to myself as I peeked inside the closet. “What to wear, what to wear?” I lifted the clothes, careful not to make a mess, and then I spotted a long grey t-shirt with a silly Marilyn Monroe face printed on the front. The t-shirt was not mine. Well, it was now, but it hadn’t always been. It had once belonged to her. That was why it was so ridiculously big and long. She had been tall. I was not. But I nevertheless hauled it out of the closet and put it on. It immediately made my legs disappear. The neckline on the t-shirt had looked good on her but ridiculous on me. But that didn’t matter. The shirt was soft and comfortable and if I was being stubborn enough, I could force myself into believing that it still smelled of her. 

I smiled as I smoothened a hand over the t-shirt. This was what I was going to wear today. This t-shirt. And absolutely nothing else. I decided that today was not a trouser day. At least not for right now. Maybe later. 

I headed back downstairs. Went into the living room where I now finally could do what I had been looking forward to. A package had been delivered to me yesterday, but I haven’t had the time to open it. I had been busy doing inventory yesterday. I always did that on Saturdays when the book café closed early. But today I was free to do what I wanted. And opening this package was what I wanted to do. I had extraordinarily borrowed Vanessa’s phone and ordered books online. Vanessa had looked shocked and joked with me, and I had shared the amusement. I understood why she was shocked. I rarely asked to borrow her phone. And ordering books online was definitely not something I did. Normally, I found whatever books I needed in the book café. But the books I had been interested in hadn’t been available in the book café, so I had to search online. 

I plopped down on the couch and grabbed the package. I should probably have used a scissor or even a knife, but I didn’t bother go and grab either of the items. I was much too eager for that. With quick and ready hands, I tore the package open and turned it upside down. Three books fell out. The first one had a black background, a silvery knife and a single, red drop of blood dripping from it. The second one had the knife blade in focus on the cover. The red drop of blood had grown bigger. The third and last book was a bit similar. The knife blade was in focus once again, but this time you could see a woman’s face reflected in the shiny blade. 

I looked down at my latest purchases. Three thick books. ‘Somewhere in the Darkness’. ‘Lurking in the Darkness’ and ‘Right here in the Darkness’. All three of them dark and grim and so very far from the uplifting books I normally read. But for once I was prepared to make an exception. Because these books were written by Helena Frost. I had been curious about her writing for a while now. The genre had been holding me back. I didn’t read thrillers. But eventually, the curiosity had won, and I had ordered the books. 

Tiny came trotting into the living room and unabashedly jumped up on the couch. 

“Oi,” I lightly scolded. “You have a big basket to lie in, kind Sir.”

Tiny rubbed his head against my arm. Clearly begging to be allowed to stay. 

“Alright, alright. You can stay in the couch,” I surrendered. 

That was when Marilla started scratching about in her cage, and I rose from the couch and walked over to the cage. Crouched down and opened it. “Hello there,” I greeted softly. “You wanna come out and hang with us?”

In response, Marilla hopped towards the opening in the cage. 

“Alright then.” I carefully lifted her out of the cage and cradled her into my chest. She burrowed into my t-shirt and I smiled. “You’re a good girl.” I winced. I was talking to her like she was a pet. She was not. “And next week you’re going back outside. That’s gonna be nice, isn’t it?” 

Marilla snooted into my t-shirt, and I carried her back to the sofa with me. She liked sleeping on my chest a lot, and I had no problem with letting her do so. I wanted to make the most of the time I had left with her before having to let go. Despite all my good intentions, I had ended up growing attached to her. Silly me. 

“Alright then,” I said lightly as I wiggled to make myself comfortable on the sofa. “Let’s see what this is about.” I grabbed the first book in the series. ‘Somewhere in the Darkness’. I opened it and made sure not to rest it on Marilla who was laying on my chest. Tiny snuggled closer and I turned my head. “Wanna hear it, Tiny?”

He licked his nose, and once again I chose to take that as a yes. 

“Alright!” I cleared my throat and began: “’The night air was balmy and with a touch of rain in it. Sarah Harris’ hair was sticking to her back as she ran through the forest on legs that shook under her with each step she took. Her next step was a mistake. She fell and landed hard, face mashing into the ground. Her teeth rattled in her mouth, and her forehead felt sticky when she lifted her head again. Blood was trickling into her eyes, and she used the back of her hand to wipe the sticky mess away. She blinked and looked up at the sky. The inky black was lit up by thousands of stars, and Sarah thought to herself that if this was the end, she was grateful of seeing the sky and stars one last time. Then there was a crunch somewhere behind her, and Sarah quickly got back on her feet. Her legs shook, but that did not stop her from running. Her back was still sticky, her hair was full of dead leaves. Her face dirty after her fall. Despite the balmy air, Sarah was shaking in her thin, white nightgown. She could hear him laughing. He knew where she was. And he enjoyed her fear.   
Sarah Harris’ strength was running out. Her feet and legs were burning. Her heart thrumming in her chest. For a moment she imagined that she would get away. That she would make it out of this forest. Catch a ride, get taken to the hospital and finally reunite with her father.   
That was not to be. Strong hands grabbed Sarah’s wrist and forced her down on the ground. Suddenly, he was above her. The silvery blade blinked in the faint moonlight, and when the sharp blade penetrated the skin on her throat, Sarah felt nothing but relieved that this was finally over. He was releasing her at last...’”

“Well,” I cleared my throat. “That is... quite the prologue.” A grim tale for sure, but a good one. I knew a good book when I saw one. The language was flowing. You felt like you were right there in the forest with the unfortunate Sarah. And to think that Helena had written this. Helena. Once again, I felt all fuzzy when I thought about her. All cozy warm on the inside. Pretty Helena. Funny Helena. Helena with the painted nails and sun colored hair-

Helena this, Helena that. I shook my head. I really had to stop thinking about her like this. She was this sophisticated, busy author from London in fancy clothes, and I was, well.... Me. Just a girl from a small Scottish village running a book café. Or trying to, at least. I was this awkward, socially challenged girl who struggled with eye contact and basic small talk. I didn’t even know if I truly was ready to move on yet. And even if that was the case, what was the case that Helena was interested in any of that? No. Somehow, I would have to try and smother those fuzzy feeling before they got the best of me.

I turned my head and looked at the picture of her. Her deep brown eyes looked back at me. I had always loved that picture. Her smile was so wide, and her hair was so curly. Untamed. That picture was taken on one of her good days. On one of her last good days. She was wearing orange feather earrings and a turquoise top in the picture. She had been so colorful. Inside and out. She was the one who had taught me to wear colors. Before meeting her, my wardrobe had consisted of clothes in grey and black. A uniform, she had called it before coaxing me into wearing green and yellow. Bright colors. 

Happy colors. 

“My unicorn,” I said softly to the picture. “What would you have thought about Helena?” 

Of course the picture did not answer me, but I had a feeling that she would have liked Helena. She had loved books. Helena was an author. She had loved clever people. Helena was smart. Very smart. And funny too. Even me with my limited sense of humor could see that. Helena smiled a lot too. I liked people who smiled a lot. And Helena seemed like a very genuine person. Not the type of person who lied. 

“You’re not mad because I’m thinking about Helena like this, are you?” I asked the picture. I knew the answer to that too. No, she wasn’t mad about that. She would have wanted me to move on. That’s what she had written in the letter to me. And maybe I was ready to move on. Maybe I was ready to give love a second chance. Perhaps it was time. But it has to be with someone you can actually have, Starling, I reminded myself. Not someone who is only here for a limited amount of time. And why would she even be interested in me? To her, I’m just the awkward woman who owns the book café. That’s all. She doesn’t know me. I groaned. Why did I always become fixated on the things I could not have? I would have to forget all about Helena. The quicker I accepted that nothing would become of my fascination, the better. 

“Aaaaooooof,” Tiny yawned next to me. 

“It’s for the best, boy,” I said firmly. “Helena is nice, but she doesn’t think about me like that. She’s just here to visit her grandmother. That’s all. And-“ I gazed fondly at the picture again. “She’s not a unicorn like she was. I mean, at least I don’t think so.” I tilted my head, considered it. Unicorns were special. Rare. Being a unicorn wasn’t just about colorful clothes. It was about being colorful on the inside too. Unicorns were the kind of people who made you feel all light and comfortable. That’s what made them magical. If you could make me feel comfortable around you, you were a unicorn. Like she had been. And perhaps Helena was in one too. Maybe- I drew in a breath- maybe Helena Frost was a unicorn too. Could that really be? 

According to the way Marilla was snuffling about on my chest, I was tempted to believe that the answer was yes....


	28. Helena 14th of December

14th of December, Shieldaig 07:30 AM

Helena

“I’m off to the book café,” I announced and weighted my bag in my hand. “Is there something you want me to bring home from the grocery store?”

“No thank you, Nena dear,” grandma said and smiled as she briefly looked up from her book. 

“Well, why don’t I cook something tonight?” I suggested. “I could make some chicken?” 

“That sounds nice,” grandma nodded. “Perhaps with some potatoes and carrots? We could pop it into the oven?”

“Great,” I said and eyed my grandmother as she said there on the sofa with a book in her lap and her injured knee propped up on the pouffe. I was concerned. Over the past few days, she seemed to have become less and less mobile. And when she did move, she hobbled. Leaned heavily on her walking stick and pretended not to wince. I wanted her to see a doctor. She refused. Instead she took Tylenol and claimed that she was fine. I knew better. But I also knew that pushing her would get me nowhere. Instead I had spent last night googling. ‘Knee injury after falling’ and ‘signs that your knee is getting worse after a fall’. The stuff I had read was not exactly uplifting, and if anything it had only made me more worried. My intention had been to stay home today so I could keep an eye on grandma, but she was the one who had insisted that I should go. And I wanted to go. I wanted to see Christie. So I had made grandma promise me that she would not do anything too strenuous while I was gone. Including cooking. Tonight I was cooking. Anything to make sure my grandmother did not hobble around. I hadn’t been cooking much for the past two years. At first because I had been too weak to do so, and then because I was not motivated to do anything. But now I was actually looking forward to cooking a proper meal that did not consist of cup noodles. 

“I’ll see you later, grandma,” I said as I went into the hallway and put on my coat....

To say that the book café was busy would be an understatement. I could count four customers when I came in. Four customers and Christie who was sitting on a chair behind the desk. Her long red hair was gathered in a bun on top of her head with a few strands hanging loose around her freckled face. She was wearing a long cream-colored cardigan with big wooden buttons down the front and black leggings. Once again, I was reminded of a more modern Anne of Green Gables, and the sight of her sitting there with her book made me feel incredibly warm inside. She looked beautiful. All those freckles dotted all over her face. Those different colored eyes. Everything about Christie Rose Starling was unusual. And I was staring at her. I should stop that. 

I walked the last bit of way up to the desk and then very quietly cleared my throat. I was surprised that she hadn’t noticed me. Tiny’s tail had started beating against the floor the moment ago, and I had also greeted a few of the other customers. But Christie had not reacted to any of it. The book she is reading must be incredibly consuming.

“Hello, Helena.”

Astonishing. She was right in front of me, and yet she still managed to be startled by her. I had been sort of following a train of thoughts and had not noticed that she had gone from reading to looking up at me. 

“Good morning,” I said, quickly finding my voice again. “I’ve come to return The Violets of March. And to pick up something for grandma. I think she needs a pick-me-up. Her knee still hurts.”

“It does?” Christie slowly closed the book and turned it over, so it was laying bottom up. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” I agreed. “If it continues, I’m taking her to a doctor.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Christie nodded thoughtfully. “A pick-me-up book, you said?”

“Yes. And The Moon Sister. She wants to continue the series,” I chuckled. 

“I’ll find it for her,” Christie promised and shifted behind the desk like she was about to slip upstairs. 

I quickly reached within my leather bag and found The Violets of March. Christie reached out and gently took the book from me. “Is there something I can find for you too?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, I’d actually like to read some more historical fiction,” I said. “You’ve got me hooked.” I had expected to earn myself a smile, but Christie’s gaze just flickered to her hands. 

“Do you have any historical fiction with some drama and love thrown into it?” I asked, trying my best to keep the conversation going. 

Christie nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, I think I have exactly what you’re looking for.” She came around the desk, and now I saw that Marilla-the-hare was in fact sitting under her cardigan. The leveret poked her head out and looked at me with her little pearly black eyes. 

“Wow,” I chuckled. “She really likes you, doesn’t she?”

“Aye. Which is a bad thing considering that I have to put her out soon.” 

“She seems very comfortable there,” I said softly. “Can I pet her?”

“Of course.” Christie leaned forward slightly so Marilla became more visible. 

I slowly reached out and carefully touched Marilla’s furry head. The leveret did not shy away from my touch in anyway. She just looked up at me with those black eyes. 

“Do you think she likes me?” I asked jokingly as I petted Marilla behind her long ear. That made her tilt her little head to the other side to give me more room. 

“Mmm,” Christie said, gaze lowering to her hands again. “But I should probably go and find those books.”

“Of course,” I let my hand drop and for a moment considered what to say. There was something strained about our conversation all the sudden. I had to come up with something that wasn’t small talk but action. “Can I see what the upstairs looks like? I’ve always wondered about that. And I’m an author. Curiosity is in my blood.”

“Oh,” Christie seemed a little surprised. “Sure. Okay.”

“Great!” 

She turned around and walked towards the door I knew lead to the upstairs department. I followed her. Tried not to look at the back of her neck and all those freckles. She had so many. And then I tried not to chuckle at the knowledge that Marilla was still hiding under her cardigan. I doubted anyone besides Christie Rose Starling would think of bringing a leveret to work. Let alone walk around with it under your shirt. 

“Hi, Tiny,” I greeted as we passed the large dog on the way.

Tiny’s tail immediately started beating against the floor in an excited rhythm. 

“You know, I think he likes me too,” I quipped. 

“Aye. He’s very friendly,” Christie said without turning around. She opened the door that lead up to the little staircase and disappeared through it. 

Once again, I followed her. Up the stairs and into what could only be the library. Every wall was covered with dark wooden book shelves. The carpet on the floor was red. Of course. Christie liked red, I knew that by now. 

“Wow,” I said as I looked around. “This is an impressive place.”

“So far, it’s doing its job.”

I looked around once more. Sometimes I heard sounds coming from up here, indicating that Vanessa was up here, but today there was no sight of her. 

“No Vanessa today?” I asked. 

“Oh, aye, she’s in the kitchen. Although I could have managed the six customers,” Christie replied, and it struck me that she sounded a little worried. 

“Is there any problems?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. 

She lifted her shoulders once. “I s’ppose we could do with a few more customers.”

“Oh.”

She sighed. “Actually, we could do with a lot more customers. Otherwise I’m not sure how we’re going to make it in the futu-“ her mouth twisted a little. “Sorry. I’m rambling. Let me find those books for you.” 

“Thank you.” 

She disappeared behind a shelf. I heard her talk softly to Marilla, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying. Instead I found myself sharing her concern. Was The Storybook Nook in trouble? That would be awful! This was such a good place. A sanctuary, almost. No, not almost. This was a sanctuary for those who needed it. Mr. Jensen who came in to read braille books and have his cup of tea. Ramona Suarez who had a haunted look in her eyes until she was sitting down with a novel and a slice of pie. Vanessa, who helped Christie out with the practical stuff. I had talked to her a few times, and every time she had mentioned how much she liked working here. The little girl I had seen come in here and request children’s books. So far, Christie had hooked her up with Anne of Green Gables and Emily of New Moon. And grandma. She so enjoyed coming here. Now in hindsight, I knew that she had mentioned The Storybook Nook at least a dozen times while talking to me over the phone. I had just been too distracted by other things. And- I glanced at the shelf Christie was currently moving around behind. What would happen to her if the book café had to close? This place meant everything to her. What was she supposed to do if not working in this place? I couldn’t imagine her not being surrounded by books. 

I wanted to help. In one way or another. If the book café was struggling, I wanted to help save it. I wanted to help Christie. I just wasn’t sure how. 

That was when Christie emerged from behind the shelf again. Her cardigan didn’t look bulgy any longer, so I guessed she had put Marilla into the cage I had seen in the corner. Perhaps the hare appreciated how quiet it was up here. 

“There we are. I found the books for Mollie,” she said softly as she handed me two books. The first one was of course the next book in The Seven Sisters series, and the second was A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman. I looked curiously at the cover. I didn’t know anything about this book. 

“I think your grandmother will really appreciate this one,” Christie said quietly. 

“I’m sure she will,” I nodded and smiled. “Did you find something for me too?”

“Mmm.” She handed me a third book. One where the cover was of a glamorous woman lying in a green dress. You could not see the woman’s eyes. Only her mouth and honey blonde hair. 

“The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo,” I read from the cover. “That sounds interesting.”

“That book changed my life,” Christie said simply. She was looking at her hands again. 

“Is it your favorite?” 

“Aye.” Still without looking at me. 

“Alright. I’m looking forward to delving into it then,” I said and wondered what was going on. The other times I had talked to Christie, she had seemed relaxed and willing to chat. But today she seemed jumpy and could barely look me in the eyes. Had I done something wrong? Said something wrong? There had to be a reason why she was acting like this. 

“Well, thank you for the books,” I said, determined to maintain conversation. 

“Finding books for people is my job. Do you want coffee while you write today?” 

“Actually, I’m not going to write today,” I said. 

A tiny wrinkled appeared between Christie’s different colored eyes. “You’re not?”

“No. I’ve decided that there won’t be a new book in the Darkness series. The words aren’t coming to me. The characters don’t mean anything to me anymore. It wouldn’t be right of me to continue punching out words just because I have to produce another novel. I want to write a novel because I want to. Not because I have to. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” Christie nodded and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “But what are you gonna do instead?”

I lifted my shoulders once. “I’m as free as a bird. Right now I’m dedicating myself to reading and spend time with my grandmother. But at some point, I might start writing again. Something completely different.” I chuckled lightly. “It was actually you who inspired me.”

“Me?”

“Mm. You asked me why I didn’t just write something else, and I thought to myself: ‘Well, she has a point’. I mean, why force myself into writing a story that doesn’t make me feel excited? So... thank you for opening my eyes.” 

She chuckled. “You’re welcome, I guess. And you’re right. There truly is no point in doing something that doesn’t make you feel good....” trailing off, she turned around and glanced at the many shelves surrounding us. 

I looked at her. Looked at the way the loose strands of hair danced around her face every time she moved her head. Looked at the way her oversize cardigan slipped down her right shoulder and exposed pale skin and a multitude of freckles. She was quick to adjust her clothes and cover her shoulder once more, but I had still managed to get a glimpse of it. The inky outline of a horned horse on the back of her shoulder. A unicorn. Christie had a tattoo of a unicorn. I had not expected that to say the least. Christie Rose Starling was full of surprises, and I was fascinated and wanted to know every last one of them. 

“I really ought to take a day where I pull all the books out of their shelves and reorganize this place,” she said as she turned around. 

“Good idea. But be careful not to drown in dust. And books,” I quipped. 

It wasn’t a very good attempt at joking, but Christie still laughed, and the sound of her sweet, clear laughter made me feel like my heart had grown at least four sizes. God, she was beautiful when she laughed. So, so beautiful. The way the corners of her mouth curled up and gave way for pearly white teeth with the tiniest of gaps between them. The way her nose scrunched up and made her freckles blend into one. The way her eyes shone with unbridled amusement. Christie’s laughter was more genuine than any laughter I had ever heard. I could not imagine her to ever let out a fake laughter. Either she laughed or she did not. There was not in between, and her realness completely melted my heart. I had never met anyone like her before. 

“What?”

I blinked, realized that she had stopped laughing and was now giving me a confused look. How long had I looked at her? 

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “It’s just.... You have a really great smile.” What was that?! Since when did I blurt things out without thinking about it first? And more importantly, since when did I give twenty five year old women compliments? The answer was simple. I didn’t. Sarah had been a year younger than me, but that was it. I was not a cliché who specifically went after women that were ten years younger than me. At least I wasn’t until I met Christie. And now I of course felt ridiculous. 

“Oh,” Christie said, surprise coloring her voice and fingers trembling slightly as she reached up and tugged a lock of hair behind her ear. “T-thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said automatically, but hastily amended: “sorry. I wasn’t trying to...”

“To what?” 

“Well, I-“

“Hello! Is there anyone here?” 

I held my tongue and said nothing. But for the first time, I felt a little upset at Christie's customers. 

“I’ll be right down,” Christie quietly called back. Then she turned around and left. 

I quelled a sigh and followed her again. 

The new customer was a woman in her mid-forties. She looked quite glamorous and was very enthusiastic as she talked about the book she wanted to read. The Guest List by Lucy Foley. 

“The Guest List,” Christie repeated, frowning slightly. 

“Yes, it takes place on this remote island with no cell service, and it’s very Agatha Christie-esque,” the woman said eagerly. 

Christie nodded. “I know that one. And I believe we have it upstairs.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw it earlier,” Vanessa chirped in. “Would you like me to go upstairs and fetch it, Christie?”

“Yes, thank you, Vanessa. That would be great.” Christie flashed the woman a smile. “You can sit wherever you want. There’s plenty of available chairs.” Again, the last part was said with just a twinge of sadness. 

Vanessa ran upstairs to fetch the book, and the woman looked around in the book café. “What a great place you’ve got here,” she complimented. 

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

The woman’s gaze landed on me. At first, she just seemed politely interested in what she most likely assumed to be another employee, but then she did a double take, and her eyes widened slightly. 

I flashed her a smile, knowing that I had been recognized. It still happened sometimes in London, but not as much as it used to. 

“Excuse me, aren’t you Helena Frost?” the woman asked. “The author of the Darkness series?”

“Yes, that’s me,” I confirmed. 

“Blimey!” she exclaimed. “I knew you looked familiar! I loved those books! I couldn’t put them down! The third one was just...” she shook her head and excused: “I’m rambling.” 

I chuckled. “That’s quite alright. Meeting someone who appreciates my books always makes me happy.” 

She turned to Christie. “Is there any chance you have the Darkness-trilogy here? I would love to reread them!”

“No, sorry, I don’t,” Christie said and to my surprise, she blushed. “I mean, I have one copy here, but that’s actually more for... personal use.” Her gaze flickered to the desk. 

I followed her gaze and realized that the book she had been so immersed in when I first stepped in here, was the first one I had written. Christie was reading my book. I couldn’t even begin to describe how that made me feel. 

“Oh, that’s a shame,” the woman half-complained. “I would love to have read it again. And have it signed, obviously.”

“Signing the book is not something I can do since it isn’t mine, but if you have an hour or so, I could read a few chapters aloud to you,” I joked. For some reason, I was an expert in bad jokes. 

“You know, lass, that’s actually not such a bad idea,” Mr. Jensen croaked from his chair. 

“What isn’t such a bad idea?” I asked confused. 

“Having you read up from your book,” he said. “It’s not every day a famous author comes to Shieldaig. And it wouldn’t be so bad hearing a story being read up instead of reading it by yourself.” 

“Plus it would be a great way to bring people together,” Ramona Suarez chirped in. “I’m sure that are other people who feels a bit lonely from time to time.” 

“Aye, in this cold weather everyone is just sitting by themselves inside and reading during the evening,” a younger man pointed out. “I know that all of us enjoy coming to the book café to read during the afternoon, but what about the evenings? I know that this place can’t be open twenty four seven, that would be impossible. But why not keep it open for a few hours one night so miss Frost could read up from her book? All of us coming here, we’re connected by our love for reading.” He glanced around at the other’s present in the book café. “I’m positive that an arrangement like this would attract even more people.”

“And when the weather is cold and the daylight is sparse, there’s nothing like a good story to perk people up,” a woman in the corner concluded. 

“Hear, hear!” the other three customers agreed. 

“A read-up,” I mused. The wheels in my head were turning. This would be a good way to conclude my time with the Darkness-trilogy. A swan song, of sorts. And besides- I turned to Christie- this could help the financial struggle the book café was facing. I don’t know how much, but even a little bit would be a help. Yes, the customers could pay a small fee to come in and hear me read up from Somewhere in The Darkness. 

“Miss Frost is here on holiday,” Christie said softly. “She isn’t here to work.”

“It’s alright,” I said quickly. “I don’t mind doing this at all.”

“Helena-“

“No, hear me out,” I gently interrupted. “I actually want to do this. Very much so in fact. I think it’s a great idea.” I smiled at her. “If you’re willing to open the book café for a couple of hours one night, I’m more than willing to do this.”

“Great idea!” the newly returned Vanessa chirped in. “Why don’t we do it then? As soon as possible! Tomorrow!”

“That’s very short notice,” Christie pointed out. 

“And not something that’s going to happen unless you want it to,” I said gently. 

“It’s your place, Christie. Your decision.”

Christie looked around at the excited crowd. Then she looked back at me. Smiled. “Why not.”

“Really?” I asked. Just to make sure. 

“Yes. It’s a good idea. We do need reasons to gather on cold nights. And I would really like to hear you read up from the book. Reading it alone was good, but if there’s a chance I can hear the author’s narrative, I certainly will not let that opportunity go to waste.” 

“Great!” I exclaimed louder than intended. 

“Are you certain about tomorrow night?” she asked. “It is very short notice.”

“It’s alright. I don’t need time to prepare. I think I know my book pretty well by now.”

Everyone chuckled. Christie included. “Of course,” she nodded. “How silly of me to think otherwise.” She turned to Vanessa. “Vanessa, you have a laptop.”

“Yep, that’s right, boss,” Vanessa confirmed with a grin. 

“Do you think you could perhaps print a poster we can put up in the window? Then we’ll see how many people shows up.”

“Consider it done, boss!”

“Excellent.” Christie looked at me again, and the smile she flashed me was utterly hopeful and heart wrenchingly beautiful.

I returned the smile and crossed my fingers that the book café would be full of people tomorrow night....


	29. Christie 15th of December

15th of December, Shieldaig 07:30 PM

Christie

‘You have a really great smile’

I sighed deeply and tried not to bite the inside of my cheek. Six words. Six words that had been stuck in my mind since yesterday. My weird mind was obsessing over those six little words.   
Helena thought I had a great smile. Helena thinks I have a great smile. It’s been such a long time since anyone has said something like that to me. I was obsessing. I was overthinking a very innocent comment. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It really didn’t. It could just have been a friendly comment and nothing more. I reminded myself not to drum my fingers against the desk. I felt all funny tonight. Suddenly, it felt like everything was wrong. My hair wasn’t sitting properly. The braid was crooked. And the sweater I had chosen made me feel all insecure because it was pink. No. Dusty pink.   
That was what the color was called. I preferred to call things by their proper name. A long time ago, my mum had told me that I should never wear pink colors because of my hair. I had decided long ago that listening to my mum’s advices would get me nowhere, and that rule applied for my clothes as well. But now I was starting to have second thoughts. Maybe the color was too much. Maybe it did make my hair look like it was on fire. And maybe it did make me look to pale.

“Are you quite alright?”

I quickly looked up at the reason for my funny feelings. Helena. She was standing next to me and looked wonderful in her pin striped suit and crisp, white blouse. I felt like a ruffled little unicorn compared to her. Then I remembered that she was waiting for an answer. “Aye,” I said quickly. “I’m alright.” 

Helena didn’t look convinced. She tilted her hair and I was immediately fascinated with the way her hair glowed golden when it caught the light. I had always liked golden colors. 

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’m sure lots of people will show up for this.”

I was less convinced. “It’s such short notice...”

Helena shrugged. “Vanessa’s been spreading the word, hasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure lots of people will show up,” she said and sounded so sure of herself. I envied her. 

“Otherwise you’ll have to read for just me,” I said and did my best to find my sense of humor. 

But perhaps my rare joke was wasted. Because Helena turned her head, and she looked quite serious as she said: “I’d like that.” 

There was that fuzzy feeling again. The kind of feeling that made me feel like bolting at the same time made me want to stay put. I did not quite know what to do with that feeling, so I settled for practicality. “And Mollie too,” I hastily added, turning my head, and smiling at Helena’s grandmother who had arrived early along with Helena. She was currently sitting in one of the chairs with her leg propped up. And I could understand why Helena was concerned. Mollie didn’t quite look like herself. She was a little pale. And she had leaned heavily on Helena when coming into the book café. She had insisted that she was fine. Just ‘the old bones causing a bit of trouble’. But as much as she had smiled, I could tell that she was lying. I had enough experience with people pretending to feel fine when they actually did not. I knew all about too tight lipped smiles and secretly clenched fists. I recognized how your voice breaks just the slightest bit when you tell a lie. And especially one concerning your health. 

“Yes, of course,” Helena agreed with a slight nod. “I’m sure it would be nice, reading for just you and grandma, but I have a feeling that many will show up.”

I settled for a slight nod.

Helena noticed turned her head again. Her blue eyes radiated concern as she looked at me, but all I could think about was a cerulean blue ocean. The amount of eye contact made me nervous, so I hastily looked away. 

“Christie?” she said softly. 

“Mhmm?” 

“How bad is it? Your... financial situation. I know it’s not exactly polite to ask, but-“

“I inherited some money two years ago,” I interrupted. I didn’t mind talking about money. “A decent sum. I’ve tried to spread it out as much as possible, but even that has limits. There’s been expenses. A wall that needed painting. Carpeting the floors. That kind of thing. Of course it was necessary to have those things done, but the money is running out. I try to keep things afloat, but I’m not sure how.”

Helena nodded seriously. “I want to help.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed. “But I still want to.”

I smiled at her. I appreciated it, but I wasn’t sure how exactly that was to be...

Twenty minutes later, I was so surprised you could have knocked me over with a feather. Vanessa had been the first one to arrive. For about five minutes, she had been the only one, and I had been extremely concerned. But then the first interested person had stepped in. And then the next one. And the next one. In a slow, steady stream, customers had come through the door. And now, twenty minutes later, the book café was more full of people than I had ever seen before. Every chair was occupied by someone. Older people, younger people. Even a few teenagers. Some of them had brought their own copy of Somewhere in The Darkness in the hope that Helena would sign them. 

Vanessa gave me a nudge. “What did I tell you, huh?”

“Did you tell me something? Oh.” I frowned. Figure of speech. 

She did not tease me. She just chuckled. “How good am I at spreading the word?”

“You’re very good,” I assured her. “This wouldn’t have happened without you.” 

“And Helena,” Vanessa added. 

“Aye. And Helena. Of course.” I tried not to squirm. Tried not to focus on my fuzzy feelings for Helena and instead focus on the good things happening. There was money in the cash register. Not many, but it was a start. If I could earn money like this, it was a good thing. Perhaps I could think of more arrangements that could attract people.

“Look at that,” Helena said quietly. The words were clearly only meant for me, and I could feel the skin at the back of my neck tightening when she whispered in my ear. I liked when she whispered. 

“So many people,” I replied. 

“Mmm. A whole bunch. Every chair is taken. Don’t you think we’re almost ready to get started?”

“Looks like it,” I nodded. “I better... say a few words.” The idea of speaking to a crowd made me nervous, but I could do it. I moved to the center of the room and quietly cleared my throat. 

Everyone immediately looked at me, and I tensed up. But then I felt Helena moving closer to me. That made me a little more calm. “Uhm, hi, everyone,” I began. “And welcome to this little read-up. It’s wonderful that so many have turned up even though it’s a bit short notice...” I pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger to stay focused. “Anyway, I hope all of you will have a great night, and I’d like to apologize in advantage if Tiny bothers anyone. I promise he’ll go away if you tell him to. But if you want him to stay, just pet his head.”

That prompted everyone to chuckle. I smiled even though I hadn’t even tried to be funny. 

“Alright,” I continued. “Now I think we should give a round of applause for Helena who kindly agreed to do this even though she’s on holiday.” 

Everyone applauded. Myself included. And then I stepped aside so Helena could stand in the center. She moved with confidence. Smiled at her audience. “Hello everyone,” she greeted as she reached within the breast pocket on her blazer and found her reading glasses. She perched them on her nose and asked: “are you ready to hear a story?” 

“Aye!” everyone replied. 

“Excellent,” she chuckled as she sat down in the chair, I had pushed into the center of the room for her. “Then let me take you to a dark, dark forest where something terrible is about to happen...”

Everyone laughed. Myself included. My gaze was fixed on Helena as she opened the book. She cleared her throat and then began reading: ’The night air was balmy and with a touch of rain in it. Sarah Harris’ hair was sticking to her back as she ran through the forest on legs that shook under her with each step she took. Her next step was a mistake. She fell and landed hard, face mashing into the ground. Her teeth rattled in her mouth, and her forehead felt sticky when she lifted her head again. Blood was trickling into her eyes, and she used the back of her hand to wipe the sticky mess away. She blinked and looked up at the sky. The inky black was lit up by thousands of stars, and Sarah thought to herself that if this was the end, she was grateful of seeing the sky and stars one last time. Then there was a crunch somewhere behind her, and Sarah quickly got back on her feet. Her legs shook, but that did not stop her from running. Her back was still sticky, her hair was full of dead leaves. Her face dirty after her fall. Despite the balmy air, Sarah was shaking in her thin, white nightgown. She could hear him laughing. He knew where she was. And he enjoyed her fear.   
Sarah Harris’ strength was running out. Her feet and legs were burning. Her heart thrumming in her chest. For a moment she imagined that she would get away. That she would make it out of this forest. Catch a ride, being taken to the hospital and finally reunite with her father.   
That was not to be. Strong hands grabbed Sarah’s wrist and forced her down on the ground. Suddenly, he was above her. The silvery blade blinked in the faint moonlight, and when the sharp blade penetrated the skin on her throat, Sarah felt nothing but relieved that this was finally over. He was releasing her at last...’”

I had of course already read that part. In fact I was more than halfway through the book, but that did not matter. Hearing Helena read aloud from her own book was special. She was immersing herself in the story. Making it come alive with her voice. And she was so good at it. Helena Frost was a true story-teller. I so appreciated hearing her read. I was not used to hearing people read aloud. There had been a time where I had been the one to read aloud. To her. I was brought back to the dim hospital room. Me and her huddled together in the too big hospital bed. Her head on my shoulder. Even though she had not been able to speak, I knew she had appreciated it. Hearing me read to her had always been one of her favorite things. And in the ‘final stages’ that was what kept her sane. What kept the panic attacks at bay. Sometimes I had read to her all through the night. Until she fell asleep. I had read to her on the last day too. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. The part where Evelyn and Celia reunites as mature women. That had been her favorite part. The second chance for Evelyn and Celia. Unfortunately, there had been no second chance for she and I. In the end, the illness had taken her. Expected but still devastating. Losing her had made me want to follow her. But I hadn’t. I had continued. Because that was what she had asked me to do. 

“’....Regina White clenched her hands into tight fists. What kind of animal would do this? She looked down at Sarah Harris’ broken body. Sixteen years. That was all this world had given her. Only sixteen short years before a brutal murder came and snatched it away.  
“What do you think, boss?” the young officer asked. He was clearly uncomfortable being here. Perhaps it was his first crime scene.   
Regina stared bitterly at the blood pooling underneath Sarah Harris’ small body. “I think we’re hunting a monster, Jamie.”  
“Anyone can see that,” Jamie nodded.   
“But you know what?” Regina said. Her fingers flexed and she felt her blunt fingernails dig into her palm. “We’re gonna catch a man. A person with two arms and legs. Eyes, fingers, toes and ears like yours and mine. Doesn’t that just piss you off? That a human did this when you want it to be a werewolf or another monster!”  
She turned around and left the crime scene. She had seen enough.’”

I had really loved that part. Helena’s ability to play with words was amazing. She was a fantastic author. And a stunning woman. Just thinking it made blood rush to my cheeks, and I noticed that Mollie was looking at me. She was looking at me who was looking at Helena. I flashed Helena’s grandmother a quick smile, but I knew that the ‘damage had already been done’. Mollie was very smart, (Helena didn’t get her intellect from nobody) she probably knew what was going on. She knew that I was starting to care more for Helena than I should. It was so foolish. If there had been a way for me to switch off my feelings, I would have. Helena was going back to London. Helena was this sophisticated, older woman. Why would she be the least bit interested in me? I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to look less interested as I watched her. You have got to stop obsessing, Starling....

It was a major success. When the two hours was up, Helena had read seven chapters of Lurking in the Darkness, and she received a major applause. Many agreed that she should do this every week. 

“I would definitely come back!” Ramona said enthusiastically. 

“Aye, me too,” Mr. Jensen agreed. “It made for a nice change, being read to instead of reading meself. Giving the old fingers a break and all that.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Helena smiled as she took off her glasses. “And I agree, it could be wonderful doing this again. I’ve enjoyed it too. You’ve been a fantastic audience.” 

I wanted Helena to come and read to us again too. She had been so vibrant and alive as she read. So beautiful. So immersed in the story. During her reading, I had closed my eyes because it was too difficult to keep looking at her, and I had been right there alongside Regina White. I had assisted her with solving grisly murders. 

“You have to come back,” the woman from yesterday said as Helena signed her book. “Otherwise we won’t know how it ends.”

Helena chuckled. “Perhaps it’ll be possible to do this again.”

How? She’s going home. She’s not gonna be here forever. The thought of that made my stomach clench tight. I had gotten so used to having her in the book café. I had grown adjusted to hearing her tap away on her laptop. Or comment on the book she was reading. She had done that a lot yesterday. To my delight, she loved The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, and she had read a good chunk. Not enough to know what this tale truly was about, for now she just assumed it was about Evelyn’s seven husbands. I couldn’t wait for her to find out exactly what this book was about. A love story, yes indeed. But not one concerning any of Evelyn’s seven husbands. Except for perhaps one of them, but that was not the traditional kind of love. 

Once everyone had gotten their books signed, the audience gradually started to dissolve. Each and every one stating that they would love to come back for another reading. And Helena looked like she wanted to do another reading. But I didn’t want to get my hopes up or anything. She was here on vacation. Not working. And reading aloud from her book most likely categorized as working. 

“Well, I daresay that was a success,” Helena smiled as the last visitor- Vanessa- left. 

“It was. Would you like a cup of tea?” I offered. “Your throat must be all dry from all that talking.” 

“A cup of tea sounds lovely, thank you.”

“I’ll go make one. What about you, Mollie?”

There was no answer, and that immediately made me pause. “Mollie?” I gently repeated and turned around. 

Mollie was still sitting in her chair. Her leg was still propped up, but her face was white, and her shoulders bunched up like you tended to do if you were in pain. 

Both Helena and I immediately rushed over to her. Helena put a hand on her grandmother’s shoulder and her voice radiated concern when she asked: “grandma? What it is?”

“It’s my knee,” Mollie said strained. “My knee hurts so terribly! I don’t think I can stand up.”

Helena and I exchanged a concerned look, and I gently took Mollies hand as Helena said: “alright, I better take a look at that knee. I’ll roll up your trousers, but I’ll be really careful, okay?”

“You can just squeeze my hand if it hurts,” I added. 

Mollie smiled bravely and clearly tried not to wince as Helena carefully rolled up her right trouser leg. 

I swallowed something when Mollie’s knee was bared. Now it was my turn to try and not wince. Her knee looked terribly distorted. It looked like her kneecap had fallen out to the side. 

“Bloody hell!” Helena exclaimed. “Grandma!”

“Oh dear,” Mollie said as she glanced at her knee. “I was hoping that the swelling would have gone down by now.” 

“Grandma, this is not a swelling!” Helena said. “You’ve dislocated your knee! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Dislocated?” Mollie repeated and looked confused. “No, I don’t think that’s it, dear. It’s just a swelling.”

“No, gran, no. That’s not a swelling. That’s your kneecap,” Helena said strained and looked like she was on the brink of getting sick. “It’s serious. It can affect the nerves and your ability to walk.”

“I thought it was just a swelling,” Mollie said helplessly. “Oh dear!”

“Yes, we’ll have to get you fixed immediately. I’m calling an ambulance,” Helena said plainly. 

“Nena, dear-“

“No, grandma. A dislocated knee is serious. Not to be trifled with.”

Without saying anything, I went over and took the phone. Walked back to Helena and handed it to her. 

“Thank you, Christie,” she said before turning her attention to the phone and dialing 999. 

I heard her ask for an ambulance, and I took Mollie’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze while trying to ignore the way my heart thrummed too fast in my chest. 

Mollie looked up at me. No doubt she could feel my palms going sweaty...

It did not take long before the ambulance arrived. Red and blue lights made the room light up, and the sharp, bright lights assaulted my senses. The siren echoed in my ears. But it wasn’t just that. It was the memories. That time I had to call an ambulance because she had fallen and could not get up. I had been out buying groceries and when I came home, she had been on the floor. I had felt so guilty afterwards. She had been my responsibility and I had left her.

I grabbed onto the edges of the desk. My heart thrummed too hard in my chest. Next to me, Tiny whined and nudged at me with his nose. As to calm him, I took a shaky breath.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “Are you alright?” Helena asked and looked torn between coming over to me and staying near her grandmother. 

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Don’t worry. I’m alright.”

“Just breathe, dear,” Mollie said gently albeit a bit strained. “It’s going to be alright.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity in it. Mollie was the one in pain, and yet she was soothing me. 

A moment later, two paramedics came into the book café with a stretcher, and once again I was taken back to that day. That terrible day where she had been on the floor and I hadn’t been there. I had dropped the grocery bags on the floor. The ice cream had turned into a pink puddle when I came home later that day. And I had broken down whilst trying to clean the floor. It felt like I was dangerously close to break down now too. The paramedics asked Helena a bunch of questions. Examined Mollie’s dislocated knee, and she whimpered slightly in pain. 

That was the last straw. I pressed my palms against my ears and slid down until I was sitting crouched down behind the desk. Tiny whined and immediately began rubbing his forehead against my shoulder like he always did when I was upset. 

“Christie?” 

I looked up. Helena was peering at me over the desk. Concern was etched onto her beautiful face and she lifted her hand like she wanted to either touch my shoulder or help me up from the floor. “What’s going on?”

“N-nothing,” I stuttered. “I’m fine.”

“I can literally see that you’re not. Please tell me what’s going on so I can-“

“Just get the paramedics out!” I interrupted, voice higher than what I had expected. “Make the ambulance and the lights go away! Please!”

“The ambulance is leaving now, dear,” Mollie soothed. 

Her voice made me a little bit calmer. “I’m s-sorry, Mollie,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t go with you to the hospital. I just... can’t.”

“It’s perfectly alright, dear. The ambulance is going now. The lights will disappear in a moment. Just keep your eyes closed if the lights are too bright.”

I did just that, and so I only heard Mollie call Helena over to her and didn’t see Helena move away from the desk. I heard her ask what was going on with me, but Mollie offered no explanation. Just a quick: “she’ll be alright in a moment. Perhaps you should stay with her, Nena.”

“No!” I said strained. “Just.... just go!” 

“Do we need to do something for her too?” one of the paramedics asked. 

“No, she just needs some peace and quiet,” Mollie replied, and her voice was very, very soft and gentle when she called: “Christie, dear?”

“Y-yes?”

“Are you quite sure you’re alright to be here alone?” 

“Yes,” I whispered. “Please just... go.” 

They did my bidding. I heard the paramedics carry Mollie out on the stretcher. I heard Mollie whimper in pain. And I heard Helena assure her grandmother that everything would be fine. Her voice sounded very stressed, and I felt guilty because I had the feeling that I was one of the reasons she was so stressed. 

But there was nothing I could do about it right now. My body had shut down. After a panic attack came the fatigue, and I ended up lying down on the floor behind the desk. My eyes were still closed, but I could still see the flashing blue/red lights from the ambulance as it drove away.

Tiny whined as he came and lied down next to me. I immediately hugged his long body closer to mine. The way his body put pressure on mine finally made my heart slow down. Tiny was here. Tiny was comforting me. Like he had done so many times before....


	30. Helena 16th of December

16th of December, Raigmore Hospital, Inverness 04:00 AM

Helena

I fussed with the blankets covering my grandmother’s small frame and made sure they weren’t folding awkwardly anywhere. 

Grandma looked very pale and very small as she sat there in the big, white hospital bed dressed in one of the standard white paper gowns. She was normally so leaned back, but now her gaze was darting back and forward between the door and drip next to the bed. She had gotten a shock, no doubt about that. What she had thought was just a minor swelling had indeed turned out to be a dislocated knee. 

I was irritated. I did not for a moment doubt that Doctor McKenzie was good at his job, but that still did not give him any right to scold my grandmother like he had when he had examined her injury. He had asked her why she had not come in earlier and when she had explained that she thought that her knee had swelled up because of the blow, he had in my opinion gotten a bit rude with her. And I hadn’t let that stand. I had dryly asked him how she was supposed to recognize a dislocated knee when she never had one before. He had actually looked a bit embarrassed, and afterwards grandma had chuckled and patted my hand and asked what she would do without me. 

The answer was nothing. Because I wasn’t planning on leaving her alone anytime soon. I just hadn’t told her that yet. 

As soon as he had examined her, the good doctor McKenzie had manipulated grandma’s kneecap back where it belonged. Grandma had paled considerably at that, and I had held her hand all the time. I had soothed her, told her that everything was going to be alright. And I had been so relieved I had been there with her. Suppose she had been alone when it happened? 

Next, the doctor had arranged for her to get her knee x-rayed to make sure that there was no broken bones. Fortunately enough, there was not. Grandma wouldn’t be needing any surgery. As rude as he had been, Doctor McKenzie was also very throughout. He had examined her hips just to make sure that there was nothing untoward going on there either. And fortunately enough, there was nothing wrong with her hips. It was only her knee that had taken a blow so to speak. 

Now grandma was wearing a splint that had been wrapped tightly around her injured knee to make sure everything stayed in place. She was to wear that for six weeks, and she had furthermore been instructed to be very, very careful and not move unnecessarily. In other words, she was to take it easy and sit still for as much as she could. A pair of crutches would be given to her when she left the hospital. She was also hooked up to a drop. Just to make sure she wasn’t getting dehydrated. She had gotten a shock, after all. At least the good doctor had been smart enough to acknowledge that.

Now it was four in the morning, and I was exhausted. The doctor wanted to keep grandma for another few hours. Just to ensure that ‘no foul play would arise’. 

I could only applaud that decision, but that didn’t prevent me from being exhausted. It had been quite frightening, seeing my normally so hearty grandmother go pale and whimper in pain. Of course I had been scared for her. Seeing her being lifted onto that stretcher had made me realize how small and fragile she truly was. That she was not immortal, and that I had to cherish every moment I had with her. 

The ride in the ambulance where she had been almost deadly pale and had tried not to whimper because she didn’t want to make a fuss.

I spontaneously leaned in and kissed her soft, wrinkly cheek. 

She chortled a bit hoarsely. “Now, now. What was that for, my dear?” 

“Nothing,” I said lightly. “I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

She nodded, and her white hair fluttered like soft feathers dancing on her head. “I am. Thank you for being smart enough to know when to call an ambulance when I was too stubborn.”

It was my turn to chuckle now. I reached out and took her hand. Gave it a soft squeeze and was relieved because her hand felt warm and not cold. Grandma leaned back in the hospital bed and huffed slightly. “You know, I don’t understand why I have to wear this silly gown. And that drip they’ve attached me to. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s just to get some liquid in you, gran,” I said and felt utterly relieved that she was complaining. That had to be a good sign. 

“I’d like to go home,” she said simply. 

“I know. And once Doctor McKenzie has been to check up on you, you will. Probably.”

Grandma sighed. “Home with crutches. Oh dear, I’m not sure I can figure out how to walk with those. I’ve never tried that before.”

“I’ll help you,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s for six weeks, dear. That’s a long time. How am I gonna manage the stairs on my own? Perhaps I can ask Margaret to-“

“Grandma, I obviously will not be going anywhere when things are like this,” I gently interrupted and squeezed her hand again. “Don’t you worry. I will be staying right here and help you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to you, Helena,” grandma said firmly. “You have your own life, and I don’t want to in the way of that.”

“Hey. You’re not. I’m going to stay because I want to. Not because I feel obliged to. Unless you don’t want me to and kick me out of your home,” I said teasingly. 

She huffed. “Don’t be silly, Helena. Of course you can stay as long as you want. It’s wonderful having you here.”

“Thank you, grandma. I enjoy being here,” I said softly and leaned back in the chair I was sitting in. My back was a bit stiff, but that was something I was more than able to ignore. My back always went crazy when I was stressed. And even though I wasn’t stressed right now, I definitely had been. Stressed and concerned. I still was concerned. I sighed quietly. 

Not quietly enough. Grandma picked up on it and gave my hand a soft pat. “Oh, dear Helena. I’ve given you quite the fright, haven’t I?” 

“Yes, you could say that,” I tried to joke. 

Grandma frowned. “Please don’t worry. I feel just fine now.” 

I scoffed. “Of course I’m worried about you. Nothing you say or do will change that. But actually, you’re not the only one I’m worried about...” I trailed off as I thought back to several hours ago. Thought back to Christie’s pale face and too wide eyes. Wide and panicked. The way her legs had caved in and she had ended up sitting on the floor. The way she had covered her ears to block any sound and squeezed her eyes shut to keep any images out. The memory of seeing her like that made both my stomach and heart clench painfully. God, she had looked so vulnerable. And scared. 

“You are thinking about Christie, aren’t you?” grandma asked softly and read me like an open book. 

“I am,” I said quietly and looked into my grandmother’s calm, brown eyes as I asked. “What’s... what’s wrong with her?” I frowned, shook my head. “No, that didn’t come out right. I think what I meant to ask is, why did she react like she did? I understand that she was worried about you, so was I. But what happened with her last night seemed like... not an overreaction, but something deeper.” I took a breath. “Did something happen to her that has made her scared of ambulances and hospitals?”

“You mean something physical?”

“Yes. Like... I don’t know, maybe an accident or something?”

“No,” grandma said quietly. “No, something physical has not happened to her.”

“Something mentally, then?” I said. It was a guess, but a good one. Grandma looked down and did not want to meet my eyes. I gave her hand another soft squeeze and only felt a little bad for pushing her when she was this fragile. “Grandma, you know what’s going on,” I said. “You know why she reacted so strongly yesterday.”

“Yes, I do,” grandma immediately confirmed and smoothened the blanket over her knees. 

“Then can’t you please-“

“No, dear. It’s not my story to tell. It’s Christie. She’s the one who should be telling you the story. Not I.”

I ran my fingers through my hair which was starting to feel a bit tangled. And my clothes had grown uncomfortable hours ago. Fancy clothes looked nice, but it was not exactly comfortable. “I can’t just make her tell me,” I sighed. 

“No. But you could ask her,” grandma said softly and winced slightly as she readjusted in the bed. 

“Are you alright? Is there something I can do for you? Do you need anything?”

“No, dear. I’m quite alright.”

“Okay.” I shifted on the chair. Uncrossed my legs and then crossed them again. “What makes you think she will tell me?”

“What makes you think that she will not?” grandma gently retorted and huffed slightly. “You young people cannot see what’s right in front of you...”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. Grandma was going all huffy-puffy. Another excellent sign. She was slowly returning to her normal state. 

“Well, perhaps you did not notice because you were too busy reading to your audience, but I was able to multitask just fine. And I noticed how Christie couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

“She-“ my mouth felt very dry. “She couldn’t take her eyes off me?”

“No, dear. She could not. She was as hypnotized from the moment you started reading and until you stopped.”

“I... I didn’t notice.” God. Christie had looked at me. And I hadn’t seen it. I should have seen. What if she thinks that it means that I’m not interested?

“I do believe she cares for you in the same way you care for her,” grandma said simply. 

“You can’t know that for certain,” I tried to argue. 

“Helena, dear, I injured my knee. Not my head. I know feelings when I see them. And Christie most certainly has feelings for you. Aren’t you pleased about that? You are quite fond of her, are you not?” 

“I am,” I said quickly. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to.... I mean, she’s so...” So what? Young? Out of reach? Pure? Unscathed, unlike you?

“Unusual,” grandma said softly and thereby chose the exact word I unconsciously had been searching for. “Yes, Christie is an unusual girl.”

“In many ways, I think,” I murmured. It had been a while since I started suspecting that there was some kind of underlying reason behind Christie’s ‘quirkiness’. That her ‘quirks’ weren’t just ‘quirks’. But of course I did not mind that. Why should I? Whatever the reason behind her ‘quirks’ was, only made her shine brighter. Like a star......

“You must tell her how you feel, dear,” grandma said and pulled me out of my musings. “As soon as possible. Life is too short to miss any opportunities. And I have a feeling that Christie will be your biggest ‘what if’.”

“But-“

“Christie will tell you her story,” grandma interrupted. “She trusts you. I can feel it.”

“You really think it’s that easy?”

“Yes. And I think that Christie wants to tell you her story. She trusts you.” 

The thought of having Christie’s trust made my heart swell. But the happiness was overshadowed by concern. What had happened to Christie? Why was she scared of the sound of sirens? And why had I not noticed that there of course was more to her than merely books and pies and colorful sweaters? Why had I not seen that her quiet, reserved nature of course covered for something? An old saying popped into my mind. The still water runs deep. If anything, that fitted on Christie. Now in hindsight, I could so easily see that she was not merely quiet. She was guarding herself. Why did I not see before? I’m an author. I pride myself in recognizing all the little signs. Ha. Some author I am. My grandmother was right. I really couldn’t see what was right in front of me. But Christie had been good at hiding. Very good. And I had been focused on convincing myself that I was not in the process of falling for her. Which was as fruitless as claiming that I would never eat chocolate again. 

“Maybe I should tell her,” I murmured. 

“Yes, maybe you should,” grandma half-chuckled and patted my hand. “I am happy for you. Christie is a good person. You won’t find a more beautiful soul out there.”

“No,” I said simply. Grandma was right about that. Christie was indeed a beautiful soul. Once again, I felt one of those odd little jolts. That pull again. That pull towards Christie I could not explain. And maybe I should not try to explain it either. At least not right now. I took a deep breath and looked at my grandmother. “How are you feeling? Does your knee hurt a lot?”

“No, dear. I am mostly worried about those crutches,” she replied and grimaced. 

I chuckled and leaned in to kiss her cheek again. “I’ll help you, gran. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll look after you.” 

“Thank you, dear. I really appreciate that.”

That was when the door to my grandmother’s hospital room opened, and the young and energetic Doctor McKenzie stepped in with a clipboard and a stethoscope dangling around his neck. 

Grandma sighed. She was clearly not pleased with enduring another round of ‘deep breath in, and out, please’.

“Well, Mrs. Griffith,” he said effectively. “Shall we see how the old heart is doing before going home?”

“Yes, Doctor,” grandma said obediently. 

I stifled a chuckle and felt tempted to whap grandma’s arm. There she sat so innocently. So unharmful in her white hospital gown. The picture of a sweet little old lady with her white feather hair and wrinkled face. 

If only Doctor Mackenzie knew that she had just roasted him in sarcasm...


	31. Christie 17th of December

17th of December, Shieldaig 08:00 PM

Christie

“Goodbye, Marilla. Stay safe out there,” I said softly. 

Marilla looked up at me with her little black pearl eyes. Clearly unsure on whether this could actually be happening or not

I couldn’t believe it either. She had been with me for so long now, she had started to feel like mine. But I knew she wasn’t. She was a wild animal. And wild animals belonged in nature. 

“It’s alright,” I said gently. “Go on.” 

Marilla took a tentative hop away from the door. 

“Go on,” I encouraged again. “This is how it’s supposed to be.” I had to accept that even though my heart ached. 

Tiny whined and gave my hand a nudge with his snout. I patted his head. “It’s okay, buddy,” I assured. “Marilla has to go now. That’s been the plan all along. We knew that when we took her in.”

Marilla took another hop away from the door. Then another. And another. I remained standing until I could not see her anymore. Then I chuckled to myself. “Goodbye, little one. And good luck.” I gently closed the door and thought to myself that I had to stop being so silly. This was really how it was supposed to be. Marilla was just fine now. Her wound had healed, and she had grown strong and healthy. 

There was absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t be let outside. Tiny and I headed back inside the living room where I sat down on the couch. It didn’t take long before Tiny hopped up next to me, and for once, I let it slide. I wanted him close. I needed a bit of extra comfort today. I was upset about having to say goodbye to Marilla. But it wasn’t just that. I was exhausted. Mentally exhausted. It had been a long time since I last had a panic attack, and even though the panic attack I had two days ago hadn’t been that bad, the feeling still sat in me, and I felt so drained. Tiny and I had been laying low yesterday. We had closed the book café early (not that there was that many customers anyway) and gone home. I had treated myself to some macaroni and cheese, my favorite comfort food. We had watched two episodes of Midsomer Murders. I had read a good chunk of Seasons of Love by Harper Bliss. Harper Bliss was another of my go-to authors. I had spent most of the day wearing clothes that did not belong to me as was far too big on me, and as always, it had made me feel a little better. 

Today I was mostly embarrassed, really. Hiding behind the desk and covering my ears was ridiculous enough when you were alone. But doing it while there were other people present? That was just awful. 

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to do it in front of Mollie, she knew me, and she knew that I suffered from occasional panic attacks, but the thought that Helena had been present made me feel terrible. I would never be able to look her in the eye again. Or talk to her. I had messed up, and now she would only see me as the girl who had hid behind her desk and covered her ears instead of helping her ill grandmother. As so many times before, I wished that I could have been better. That I could have forced myself to push my own feelings away and help Helena and Mollie. Of course I should have offered to go with them in the ambulance. I should have offered comfort for Mollie when she was in pain. But I had not. Instead I had hid behind the desk and more or less commanded to be left alone. 

I hadn’t talked to Helena today. I hadn’t even seen her. I didn’t know whether she and Mollie were home from the hospital or not. Helena hadn’t come to the book café yesterday, and I hadn’t stopped by Mollie’s place to check up on them. I hadn’t even called even though I knew I was supposed to. That’s what friends did. They called and checked in. No. They stopped by. With a bowl of something warm or a bouquet of flowers and a ‘get well soon’ card. That’s the kind of thing friends did. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I was too ashamed of my reaction. Too ashamed of being useless when I should have helped. I was certain that Helena hated me now. I hadn’t been supportive when it mattered, and I had turned the attention onto myself instead of Mollie. Perhaps Helena thought that I was just looking for attention. She had to be really mad at me. I was mad at me. How was I supposed to act if she came back to the book café? But she probably wouldn’t. Why should she? Now she knows what kind of person I am....

“It’s a good thing she’s going back to London,” I said aloud. “A very good thing.”

Tiny looked at me. Tilted his head like he didn’t agree with me. 

“It is,” I said firmly. “I messed up, Tiny.” And missed my chance. There was no way that Helena ever would become interested in me now. Of course she wasn’t before either, but now any little hope I might have had had become extinguished. It was too late. My unreasonable reaction two days ago had put an effective stop to anything. And we were too different anyway. She was this sophisticated, beautiful woman with three bestseller novels under her belt. I was just a small town girl who struggled to keep her book café afloat. And maybe I was too damaged. Too affected by the loss I had suffered. 

“Maybe there really is just one person for each of us,” I mused. 

Tiny tilted his head again, and I wrapped an arm around his broad shoulder. “If that’s the case, I should be thankful. Because she was perfect....” I trailed off. Helena’s perfect too. So, so perfect. Kind.   
Funny. Smart. Beautiful. A wonderful storyteller. She was all those things. But she was also someone I could not have. Ever. I had messed up. In two ways. One being by of course acting like I had when the ambulance had arrived. And by allowing myself to yearn a little bit after Helena. Perhaps it was some kind of lesson. A reminder to not be greedy. I had already experienced the greatest anyone could ever have, once. Hoping for it to happen a second time was greedy. 

Tiny whined and gave me a nudge with his snout. 

“Don’t worry,” I said, giving my best friend a squeeze. “Nothing has changed. It’s still just you and me. We’re used to that.” 

Tiny squeaky yawned. 

“No more Helena,” I said firmly. More to myself than to Tiny. He looked seriously up at me. “Did you hear me?” I asked him. “No more Helena. We just have to forget about her.” Forget her and be grateful over what I’ve once had. I had experienced more love in five years than some people did over a lifetime. I had been extremely lucky in finding someone who had understood me. That was difficult enough for ‘normal’ people. But even harder for people on the spectrum. Yes, I should be grateful. And I was. I had been lucky enough to experience the most beautiful love story with her. My unicorn. 

“And that’s enough pondering,” I decided as I grabbed the remote and switched on the television. What I needed was another episode of Midsomer Murders. Perhaps a nice cup of tea later. Some toast with jam. I chose the episode called ‘The Garden of Death’, and then I settled properly in the sofa. Grabbed my knit work and started counting stitches. If I wanted to have this finished by Christmas, I was actually in a bit of a hurry. And I had to get this place ready for Christmas too. It wasn’t enough that the store was decorated. My own home had to be too. I needed ornaments and elves and plenty of glitter. And of course a Christmas tree. That was almost the most important thing. I needed a big Christmas tree, fresh and green and covered in glitter and everything Christmas. That was what she had wanted. She had loved Christmas. As she once had told me: ‘Christmas won’t be cancelled just because I’m dead, Christie-Coo.’. Tough but true. Life goes on. It has to. And I had to move along with it. I had promised her that. One of the last vows I had made to her. 

I abandoned the knit work for a moment and leaned back. Closed my eyes....

Knock-knock-knock!

My head jerked up so fast my neck went crick and I became slightly dizzy. The sky was dark and so was the television screen. The episode was done. My knitting had ended up on the floor, and Tiny was sitting upright next to me. His ears were moving back and forward as was his big head. He was listening intensely to the sounds coming from outside. 

Knock-knock-knock!

I had never liked that sound. It meant visitors. If there was something, I was not mentally prepared for today, it was visitors. But at the same time, I was far too polite to just ignore whoever it was. I couldn’t do that. Suppose whoever it was peered in through the window and saw me ignoring them? That wouldn’t be good at all. I had already messed up two days ago. Not this too. 

With a quiet groan, I got up from the couch and wandered into the little hallway. I opened the door and almost swallowed my own tongue when I discovered who it was. 

Helena. 

She was standing on the porch in her big fur collar coat and one of Mollie’s scarves tied around her neck. Her golden hair was tied back in a ponytail that lifted every time the wind blew. It was a crispy evening. Dark and cold. 

“Christie!” she said, voice radiating relief. “Thank god you’re here!”

“’Thank god’?” I repeated, confused and slightly distracted by Tiny who had come into the hall to see what the commotion was about. 

“I went to the book café, but it was closed,” Helena quickly explained.

“Oh. Right. I decided not to open today,” I said vaguely. When I woke up this morning, I had felt so exhausted it had felt like my bones were getting crushed. So I had decided to keep the book café closed. It was necessary for my mental health. So I had written a note, ventured outside and slipped said note through the letter slot in Vanessa’s parents’ house. On the note I had written that the book café would not open today. I had not offered any explanation. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I should have before it was too late. But Vanessa had gotten the note. Otherwise she was the one who would have shown up here. And she had not. 

But Helena had. 

“Can I come in?” she asked softly. 

She did not sound angry, but I remembered how confused she had sounded over my lack of... everything two days ago in the book café. She was undoubtedly here because she wanted an explanation. I winced. “Now is not really a... a good time.”

“Please?” she said. “I really need to talk to you.”

I couldn’t say no. Because it was her asking me. And because I generally had trouble with saying no. “Alright,” I mumbled and awkwardly stepped aside so she could come in. 

“Thank you.” She elegantly crossed the threshold and took a flurry of snowflakes with her onto the welcome mat. Tiny immediately went ballistic and whined and wagged his tail. Helena chuckled and patted his head whilst telling him that he was a good boy. 

Now what? Do I ask if I should take her coat? Or is that too strange? I was not very good at having people over. Do I keep standing here or do I leave her to take off her coat in peace? 

As I debated what to do, Helena made the decision and unbuttoned her coat. She was wearing jeans and a simple grey cable knitted sweater underneath. Casual again. I wished she hadn’t been. I wished she had been wearing the same pinstriped suit she wore two days ago when I last saw her. To remind me who she was. Helena Frost, famous author. Living in London. When she was wearing jeans and a sweater, she could trick me into believing that she belonged here. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked and interrupted my train of thoughts. 

“Only if you’re having one too.”

“I am.” No lie. 

“Alright. Then a cup of tea would be lovely,” Helena smiled. 

“Okay. I’ll make one. Just... go into the living room and sit down. It’s... to your left,” I said strained before escaping into the kitchen without hearing Helena’s reply. I had to try and get some control over myself. My thoughts were all over the place and I felt like a complete mess.

Looked like a complete mess. 

Everything sort of paused for a moment when I suddenly realized what I was wearing today. An oversized purple t-shirt that went down my knees. And absolutely nothing else. Because of the headspace I still was in, any type of trousers had been a sensory issue for me today, and the first thing I had done when coming home after having dropped the note at Vanessa’s, had been deciding that today was a no pants kind of day. Now I wish that I hadn’t. I had answered the door like this. If Helena didn’t think I was strange before, she surely would be now. Answering the door like this was not.... normal. 

I sighed quietly, accepting defeat, and put the kettle on so I could make the tea. It would be a little while before the water boiled, and I turned around and went back to the living room. I couldn’t hover out here. That would be rude. 

Helena had sat down on the sofa. Tiny was laying by her feet, worshipping her like she was a queen and he her obedient servant. She curiously looked around. “So, this is where you live.”

“Aye. This is where I live,” I confirmed and winced. Perhaps I should have given her a tour of the place. Wasn’t that what most people did when they received a guest that had not yet been in their home. My heart sank. I had just missed another social cue...

“It’s nice,” Helena smiled. “Your living room is so much cozier than mine is.”

“But probably smaller too, I bet.”

She shrugged lightly. “I don’t think it’s about the space. It’s what you do with that space. My flat is white and colorless and sterile. This place is vibrant and colorful and alive. It’s perfect.”

“You really think so?” that made me happy. I hadn’t painted since we moved in here. We had both been giddy about moving into a cottage instead of an apartment, so we had went a little overboard when we painted. One of the walls were bright yellow while the others were purple. We had both laughed hysterically afterwards, and she had declared that it was absolutely perfect for a unicorn. We had kissed and welcomed each other to this new cottage, and I couldn’t bear to paint the walls any differently. It was a reminder of the short life that had been lived here. 

“Yes, I do,” Helena replied. “It’s perfect.”

I shifted awkwardly. Dearly wishing that I had been wearing trousers. “The tea is almost ready. Is there something else you’d want?”

“No thank you. That’s quite alright.”

Sit down, Starling. You can’t just stand here. It looks weird! Helena had chosen the sofa, so I went over and sat down in the chair. Silence fell between us. I ransacked my brain for a moment before at last remembering to ask the most obvious thing: “How’s Mollie?”

“She’s doing a lot better,” Helena replied. “Her knee was indeed dislocated, but it’s been wrapped up tight now. She’s going to take it easy and use crutches for six weeks, but she’ll be okay.”

“Six weeks? Gosh, that’s a.... a long time.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

I winced and wiggled in the chair. I was so uncomfortable I had the strangest urge to run outside and bury myself in the snow. Perhaps that would make my skin stop burning. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. 

Helena looked up. She frowned and made a tiny wrinkle appear between her cerulean blue eyes. That looks so... “Why are you apologizing?” she asked and interrupted my thoughts. 

“Because I wasn’t... Because I didn’t do anything,” I murmured. “I didn’t help you. Instead I just...” 

“You had a panic attack,” Helena said softly. “It was beyond your control. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“I’m still sorry though. I really am! I should have-“

“Christie,” Helena interrupted. Her voice was still soft. And so very patient. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did what you had to do to protect yourself in the current situation. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It feels wrong,” I murmured. “Mollie was in pain and I just... didn’t do anything about it.”

“Mollie is okay now. And she’s not mad at you. Nor am I. Just worried.” 

“Worried?” I repeated and frowned. “Why?” 

“It looked bad,” Helena said softly. “The panic attack. All panic attacks are terrible, but those who forces you to curl up are particularly harsh.”

I tilted my head and felt exactly like Tiny for a moment. Curious. “You know what you’re talking about, don’t you?” I asked. 

Helena nodded. “Yes, I’ve had a few panic attacks myself. It’s been a good while since now, but I have no problem with remembering what it’s like. Your pulse starts going crazy and your heart is just...” she made a gesture with her hand to indicate a fast heartbeat. 

“Aye. Exactly.” 

“For me it was the idea of not being able to breathe that triggered it,” she continued. “If I felt constricted in some kind of way, it would trick me into believing that I couldn’t breathe. And when I started panicking, I actually couldn’t breathe. At least not until Sarah calmed me down.”

“Sarah?” I asked even though that probably was the wrong thing to focus on. 

“My ex-girlfriend,” Helena said calmly. “We split up a year ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m actually quite relieved that we’re not together anymore. She deserved more than what I could give her at the time,” Helena said lightly. “At first, I was bitter that she had left me because I was going through a very rough patch at the time, but now I realize that the world doesn’t revolve around me. She had to look out for herself too, and-“ she interrupted herself and chuckled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you all that. It seems that it’s too easy for me to speak freely in your company.”

“Familiar face,” I nodded and remembered the conversation we’d had that night at the pub where she asked me if we had met before. I was still certain that we had not, but I admitted that it was easy for me to be in her company. 

“But anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about Sarah. Or myself for that matter,” Helena said, picking up where she left of. “I came here because I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m alright,” I promised. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You did a little bit,” she admitted and elegantly folded her hands in her lap. Perhaps living in London made you extra British. “But I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better. You are feeling better, aren’t you?” 

“I am,” I was quick to confirm. “I’m just a bit tired. Panic attacks tends to exhaust me a few days later. When the dust have settled and there’s room to feel, so to speak.”

“I understand that,” Helena said and looked at me. Her gaze was so soft, so concerned. “I really am sorry the night ended like that for you, Christie.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any more help.”

She shook her head. “That was not your fault.” 

“It wasn’t your fault that I had a panic attack either. It was just something that happened.”

“Because of the ambulance,” Helena said gently and leaned forward. Her fingers stretched out as though she wanted to touch something. I had the strangest urge to outstretch mine and let our fingertips connect. “Was it the bright lights or the sirens?”

“Both,” I said, still battling that strong urge to touch her hand. “But mostly, it was what the ambulance means.”

“What it means?”

“Mmm. Emergencies. Pain. Bad things. Hospitals.”

“You don’t like hospitals?” Helena asked gently, fingers stretching out a tiny bit. If I stretched mine just an inch more, our fingers would be touching, and the idea of that both concerned me and made me yearn to just outstretch my fingers. I did not understand what was going on. I never initiated touch. Not ever. And now I was on the brink of touching Helena. 

I swallowed something. Curled my fingers and tugged them away in my hands. Even though I knew it was a rhetorical question where a nod would have sufficed and did not need a verbal answer, I decided to answer anyway. If she could ask freely, I could answer freely. “No, I do not like hospitals,” I murmured. “I haven’t liked hospitals for two years now.”

“Alright,” Helena nodded. “Did something happen two years ago that triggered that?”

“Yes,” I whispered, and my voice threatened to break as my every last memory of her from the first hello and to the last kiss flooded my mind. “My wife died...”


	32. Helena 17th of December 08:50 AM

17th of December, Shieldaig 08:50 PM

Helena

“Your... your what?” I whispered and stared at Christie.

“My wife,” she softly repeated.

The kettle whistled in the kitchen, and both of us jumped a little. Christie looked like the sound had genuinely scared her, but I had jumped because I had been so wrapped up in my own head. 

“I better get that,” Christie said, jumping to her feet and heading into the kitchen. Tiny followed her, of course. And I was left sitting on the sofa, completely taken aback whilst my mind kept focusing on that little word. Wife. Wife. My wife died. Christie has been married. I cannot believe this!

“What kind of tea do you want?” Christie inquired and interrupted my thoughts. “I have white tea, green tea, black tea and oolong tea.”

“Black tea is fine,” I said without completely knowing what I was agreeing to. My mind was still focused on that one little word. 

“Alright.”

I heard her putter around in the kitchen and talk to Tiny like nothing had happened. How did she do that? How did she manage to sound so normal when she had just dropped a huge bombshell on me? I couldn’t wrap my head around it. When grandma said that there was more to Christie, this was not exactly what I had expected. I had sensed that there was something. But never in my wildest dreams had I seen this coming. I felt completely dumbstruck. And a little foolish because I was probably sitting with my mouth wide open. 

After a moment, Christie came back to the living room closely followed by Tiny. She was carrying a tray with two bright orange mugs and a flower patterned teapot. None of it fitted together, but somehow it was perfect for Christie. She carefully sat the tray down on the small coffee table between us with the words: “there we are. The tea just needs to steep for a moment.” She sat down in the chair, awkwardly shifting and then grabbing a blanket. She wiggled a little in the chair as she wrapped the blanket tightly around her waist. Then she took one of the mugs and sat it in front of me. 

“Can I-“ my throat felt dry and I quickly cleared it. I could probably benefit from some tea. “Can I ask about your... your wife?”

“Aye, of course,” Christie said immediately. “She’s not a secret.”

I looked at her as she sat there in her oversized t-shirt and blanket draped over her legs. With her hair pulled into a messy braid and eyes that did not falter at all. As she sat there, she looked both younger and older than I had ever seen her. Perhaps fresh-faced, but with eyes that radiated a maturity not even I possessed. I had heard the term ‘old soul’ a million times. I had even used the term a few times in my books. But I had never actually met an old soul until now. The eyes that looked at me did not belong to a young woman. They were the eyes of someone older than twenty five. These were eyes that had seen a lot.

“Can I show you something?” Christie asked. “Talking about her won’t really do her any justice.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Christie rose from the sofa. She wrapped the blanket a little tighter around herself and then she skittered towards the staircase with the grace and elegance of a fawn and certainly faster than any woodland creature. She disappeared upstairs and Tiny for a moment looked like he wanted to go with her, but then changed his mind and sat down in front of me. He put his big paw on my arm, and I chortled. “Hello, boy. Can you sense how I’m feeling?” he probably could. Dogs were very intuitive. And I had a feeling that this dog in particular was intuitive. Exactly like his owner. Christie was a quiet observer when she flittered about in the book café, but I had a feeling that she saw everything. Nothing escaped her attention. I wondered what she was thinking about me? Had she looked at me for longer than she looked at her other customers? Had she noticed me looking at her? Did she know how I truly felt about her? Did she know that I was growing more fond of her by the minute? My heart thrummed in my chest in a manner that would have made me nervous if the situation had been any different. 

I patted Tiny’s big head, and he reacted by making a sound that almost have been a purring as he put his head on my knee. I chortled quickly as I patted him again. “I’ve never met a purring dog before. I think you might have spent too much time with Pepper.” Grandma’s aging cat was definitely a bad influence on everyone he met. I doubted there existed an animal that was grumpier than him. But Tiny was certainly not grumpy. He was a good boy, and it wasn’t hard to admit that I had fallen for him right off the bat. Insta-love. Perhaps that is what I should write about in my next novel. A story where the main character falls in love at first sight. I had never tried it before, but perhaps it could be interesting to try. Dipping my toes into a completely new genre. 

Christie came back downstairs. She had replaced the blanket around her waist with a pair of loose fitting grey trousers. The trousers only made her seem even smaller. She was holding a framed picture in her hands, and when she sat down again it was next to me on the sofa instead of in the chair. “Have you gotten some tea?” she asked, glancing at the teapot.

“No, not yet.”

“Oh, okay. It’s probably not done steeping yet either,” she mused as she shifted a bit on the sofa to make herself comfortable.

Tiny trotted over to her and made the same purring sound as he put his head on her knee instead. Christie chuckled a bit. Patted his head. Then she handed me the picture. 

I gently took it from her. The first thing I noticed was how beautiful the frame looked. Made of silver and designed in a way that made it seem like vines were delicately draped around the picture behind the glass. There was not a stain on the glass. I imagined that Christie was more than careful never to touch the glass and leave smudges on it. I was careful too as I gently tilted the frame so I could see the picture. Christie smiled back at me from the photo. I could not tell how old she was, but she had to be younger than she was now. Her smile had a distinct youthful glow to it. I was immediately struck by how heart-wrenchingly beautiful she looked in the picture. She was in a white dress, a simple one with thin spaghetti straps that gave way to her pale arms covered in freckles, and a slight V-neck. There was delicate white flowers embroidered all over the soft white fabric, and upon her head was a flower wreath. I could see yellow, purple, and even red flowers in the wreath. The combination would not have worked on anyone besides Christie. Her red hair was flowing freely and curling slightly. Not pulled in a braid or a ponytail or a braid like she normally had, and somehow the flowing locks only added to the glow of youth. Her eyes radiated happiness and joy. Her flowing locks, the flower wreath and her simple, soft dress once again made me think of Anne of Green Gables, and I found it more than difficult to tear my gaze away from the smiling Christie to look at the woman standing next to her. The image of Christie sucked me in in a way I never had experienced before. Her smile was almost hypnotic. Eyes full of wonder and joy.

Finally, I looked away from the smiling Christie and turned my gaze to the woman standing next to her. She was beautiful too. Significantly taller than Christie and wearing a strapless deep red dress that was slightly layered. Not a traditional wedding dress at all, but it suited her well. The color highlighted her bronze colored skin beautifully. She was smiling as much as Christie was. Her eyes were a deep shade of cognac and her black hair was arranged in thick box braids that framed her face wonderfully. She had high cheekbones, lips that weren’t too thick or thin, a sprinkle of freckles dusted across her nose and thick, full lashes framing her dark eyes. She was stunning. Anyone could see that. But as I looked at her, I also noticed something else. She had one long arm draped around Christie’s shoulder.   
There was nothing unusual about that, of course not. But the thing that stood out was the fact that she was clutching a cane in her right hand. 

“This is my Naya,” Christie said softly. “My wife.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Aye. She was.”

“What... What happened to her?”

“She died.”

I winced, and so did Christie. “I am sorry,” she apologized. “I’m being too blunt. You were asking for the full story, weren’t you?”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Christie shrugged slightly. “As I said, she’s not a secret.” She cleared her throat and then began: “I met Naya on my first day at college. She was living in the room across mine. Maybe I should mention that I went to college in London. I did live in Edinburgh with my parents before that, but my parents and I...” she wrinkled her nose. “We don’t understand each other. Or they don’t understand me. Ever since I was a little girl, we’ve sort of talked past each other. They speak one language, I speak another, and there’s this great, big language barrier between us....”

“I’m sorry. Do you ever see your parents?” 

“Once or twice a year. Sometimes I send them a letter and they send one back.”

I nodded. “I know what it’s like to not get along with your parents. But I think I’m getting you sidetracked here. You were telling me about Naya.”

“Aye. As I said, we met at my first day at college. The first thing she did, was cracking a joke. One that I understood and could laugh at. That’s how I found out that she was special. A week later she asked me on a date, and I said yes.” Christie smiled fondly at the memory. “I had never been on a date before, so I was very nervous, but it wasn’t even difficult to be with her, talk to her. In many ways she spoke the same language as I did. Or at least she made an effort to understand me. That had never happened before.” Christie drew a lock of hair behind her ear. “Before I met Naya, I was incredibly lonely. I was often misunderstood by my parents and peers, and things were tough. That’s why I decided to go to London for college. In the hope that things would change. And they did. I met Naya. We started dating, and we quickly grew close. I’m sure some would say that we grew too close too quickly, but it didn’t felt rushed for us.” Christie shifted a bit on the sofa and tugged her legs up under her. “I didn’t need to have a major back and forward discussion with myself in order to know that I wanted to be with her.” she chuckled slightly. “I don’t get all the ‘maybe I shouldn’t´ or ‘maybe it’s too soon’ stuff. All the hesitance doesn’t really exists in my world. I believe that if something feels right, you should go after it no matter what. And Naya felt right. She understood me like no one else ever had. We made each other laugh. She made me feel happy, and she gave me a sense of belonging.”

“That’s wonderful, Christie,” I said gently. Right now, Christie’s tale sounded like a beautiful love story. Naya had sounded wonderful. It was hard to accept that she had died. 

“Naya already used a cane when I met her,” Christie continued her story and nodded towards the framed picture. “I noticed, but I didn’t asked her. I felt like it was up to her to tell me about the cane when she was ready. And two months into our relationship, she did. She told me that she was ill. She had JALS.” 

“’JALS’?” I repeated and frowned in confusion. I had never heard that term before. 

“’Juvenile amyotrophic lateral sclerosis,’” Christie said slightly mechanically. “It’s a rare condition. Only two out of every 100,000 gets the disease every year. Naya was unfortunately one of them. She had been diagnosed with the disease at fourteen.”

“Oh god,” I said quietly. “Christie, that’s horrible.”

“It was essentially a death sentence. The prognosis for people who had JALS is not at all good. Naya had known for a long time that the time she had left was limited. And she had tried to accept that as best as she could. Of course that was difficult. Her parents were extremely protective of her, and they preferred that she stayed where they could see her at all times. But Naya refused to spend her days dreading when she would take her last breath. She wanted to make the most of whatever time she had left. So when she was done with high school, she left for college without her parents approval. They were furious with her for leaving without saying anything. More than once, they came to the college to persuade her to come back home, but Naya refused. She wanted an education, and honestly, what kind of parents would stop their child from getting that?” Christie cracked a smile. “Naya was extremely headstrong and refused to spend her time ‘twiddling her thumbs’ as she called it. She wanted to study. I don’t think she had ever considered falling in love before she met me...” she bit her lip and fiddled with her hands in her lap. “She was in tears when she told me about her diagnosis. She didn’t want to lie to me, but she understood if I wouldn’t want to be with her anymore.” Christie adjusted herself on the sofa once more. Reached out and brushed a hand over Tiny’s big head. The dog sniffed and tried to lick her hand. Christie chuckled slightly. “For me, there was no choice,” she said softly. “I was already in love with Naya. I wanted to stay with her no matter what. It didn’t matter that she was sick. I loved her. Which sounds ridiculous because we had only known each other for such short time, but that was how I felt. And when she was done talking, I told her that. And I said that I would never leave her no matter what. What she had told me did not change how I saw her. She was still my Naya.” She stopped talking to reach out and pour tea into the two mugs. 

My throat felt dry and swollen, so I reached out and grabbed the mug. Took a sip of the tea despite it being too hot to drink still. I needed something that could soften the lump in my throat. 

“We continued like nothing had happened,” Christie resumed her story. “We kept dating. Kept growing closer. For the first time in my life, I felt a genuine connection with another person. Someone who understood. I felt like Naya knew me inside and out which seems silly because we hadn’t known each other for that long...”

“That doesn’t sound silly at all.” That was exactly how I felt about Christie. 

“We had been together for a year when we were talking one night. We were talking about the future. I told Naya that I had always dreamed of settling down in some quiet little village in the highlands. Far away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. Open a bookstore. Naya loved that idea. She wanted that too, she said. She wanted it so much she suggested that we did that right after college. Moved away. Found a quiet village to settle down and live our lives. She was so enthusiastic, it hurt to tell her that I couldn’t do that. I didn’t have the money to move far away. Sending me to a college in London had cost my parents so much, so I would have to go back to Edinburgh and live with my parents once I graduated college. That’s when Naya told me about her grandfather.”

“Her grandfather?” I asked a bit breathlessly. I had been completely enthralled by Christie’s story.

“Aye. He had died two years prior, and he had left Naya a sum of money. Quite a lot of them actually. Enough for her to essentially be able to do what she wanted. And now she wanted to make my dream about a quiet life in the highlands come true, she said.” Christie chuckled. “But I was stubborn. I didn’t want her to spend her money on me. That didn’t seem right. I told her that, and she responded by asking ‘what if it wasn’t just my money, but ours?’. I asked her what she meant by that, and she... well, she asked me to marry her. Just like that. I didn’t even think about it before I said yes. We were only nineteen, and everyone thought we had lost our minds...” she shook her head. “But that didn’t make a difference to us. We were getting married whether people liked it or us. We didn’t want a huge ceremony or anything. We just wanted to be committed to one another. And Naya wanted me to have part in her money. She wanted to make sure that I would be okay when she wasn’t here anymore. We married for love and practically. The perfect combination.” She paused to take a sip of her own tea. 

I sat and tried to wrap my head around it. Christie had gotten married at just nineteen. It seemed almost impossible. She was a... a widow. 

“I talked Julie into buying one of those certificates that gives you to authorization to officiate a wedding,” Christie continued. “As soon as she had received the certification, Naya and I married. She found her wedding dress in the back of her closet, and I bought mine in a thrift store. We got married outside on the lawn by the campus we lived in. We were just her and me and Julie and two other friends I had in college. It was a completely traditional wedding where we promised to love each other in sickness and in health until death did us part. A quick ceremony with no cake, no guests and no commotion. The most expensive thing about it was the rings.” Christie reached under her shirt and pulled out the chain she was wearing around her neck. There was a golden wedding ring hanging in the chain, and Christie gently took the ring between her fingers and twirled it as she spoke. “A year after we met, we were married. It had taken us all but two weeks to plan the wedding, and neither of us had told our parents anything. We thought it would be better to wait until after we had married. So once the ceremony was over and the papers had been signed, I called my parents and told them. They were stunned. Disbelieving. They had only met Naya once, and for whatever reason, they aimed their anger at her. They were convinced that I had ‘been taken advantage of’ and that I didn’t know what I had agreed to. No matter how many times I told them that that wasn’t the case, they didn’t believe me. So I ended up hanging up on them. We didn’t speak for a while afterwards.”

“And... And Naya’s parents?” I asked carefully. 

“Oh, they completely stunned too of course,” Christie said and lifted her shoulders once. “They were sure that we hadn’t thought it through properly. Maybe that’s true, but it didn’t make it any less right. Naya and I knew what we wanted. Her parents were not thrilled about it. According to them, we had made a stupid decision. They were certain it wouldn’t last. They thought I one day would wake up and realize what I had done. A load of tosh. But I suppose that’s how people react when you marry young. They always search for reasons why the marriage shouldn’t last. It’s like they don’t believe that young people can’t possibly tell the difference between love and attraction. I believe that’s an utter load of shi-“ she cleared her throat awkwardly and took a sip of tea before continuing: “anyway, there was nothing either of our parents could do. We were over eighteen, both of us. They couldn’t force us to do anything. Naya spoke to her parents regularly still, but I didn’t speak to mine. I didn’t need to. Naya was my family now. We were happy. We were in love. We continued studying. It was almost as if nothing had changed. We still lived across each other and saw each other at every meal. And we were happy. Very, very happy. It was almost as though Naya was blossoming. Sometimes she joked that I had cured her. I wish that had been the case. We didn’t go out much, but when we did, it was quite entertaining to hear Naya introduce me as her wife. Most people did not believe us, but that didn’t matter.” Christie took another sip of her tea. I could see how a shadow had settled behind her eyes. The story was changing from a happy one and into something heartbreaking. “Two years into our marriage, Naya gifted me Tiny. She didn’t want me to be lonely, she said. She wanted to be sure that I had someone no matter what. She warned me that he probably would become a very large dog, but I said that he was just a tiny baby. So we ended up naming him Tiny.” Christie shifted again. Her gaze flickered to her hands. “Naya’s strength was fading now, and by the time we reached graduation, she was using crutches instead of a cane. But she was still happy. She was still bubbly. We were very happy. Immediately after graduation, we started looking for a new place to live. It didn’t take long before we found Shieldaig. It was actually Mollie who told us about the cottage.”

“It was? I didn’t know that,” I said. 

Christie smiled. “She was very excited about having young people moving to Shieldaig, and Naya and I saw no reason to wait. Two months after graduation, we left London and moved to Scotland. Her parents were less than thrilled, but Naya left no room for argument. It was her life, and she wanted to live it like she wanted to. We moved into the cottage, and yes, Naya was definitely acting on an impulse when she bought the old flower store. But she was so excited about it. She wanted to give me the book café I had always dreamed about, and of course I couldn’t be mad at her because of that. It was a sweet gesture, and we had fun clearing out the place and getting it ready. She helped as much as she could. So did Mollie and a few other people from the village. They adored Naya, and I think they found us to be a very charming couple...” Christie chuckled. “We were twenty one at the time. Young, dumb and in love. We lived after Naya’s motto. Life is short, seize the day. That’s exactly what we did. We lived each day to the fullest. We wanted to open a book cafe, so that's what we did. What was the point in waiting? Of course it was tough, but The Storybook Nook happened. We were both so excited on opening day. The place was bursting with people. Like it was the other night when you read up from your book...” she looked at me, and I blinked back a few tears. Christie and Naya’s story was beautiful. So, so beautiful. But too short. 

Christie drew in a breath. “We were happy. It didn’t matter whether we were studying in London or trying to run a book café in the Scottish highlands. It was her and me against the rest of the world. Even though her parents did not approve of our marriage, they often came and visited us. Once or twice they tried to persuade her to come back to London, but Naya refused. She wanted to be here where she was happy. And that place was here. With me. She loved living in Shieldaig, and she loved the book café. She loved receiving customers and help them with finding the perfect book. She loved baking pies. She loved all of it.” another sigh. Christie’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “About a year after we had come to Shieldaig, Naya’s health started to decline. One day I came home after a trip to the grocery store and found her on the floor. She had fallen and couldn’t get up. That’s when she started using a wheelchair to get around, and after that, she was fading fast. She lost strength in her arms. She had trouble swallowing. She developed a more hoarse voice because she had trouble talking. We had both hoped that her illness would progress slower, and Naya always joked that she wanted to stick around long enough to see me get grey hair-“ Christie chuckled without any humor. “But unfortunately, that was not to be. A year after she went from using crutches to a wheelchair, her time was up. She was in pain. She could barely talk. I knew it was time for her to go, so I brought her back to London to a hospital where she could be with her parents, and...” she swallowed and blinked rapidly. Looked down at her hands. “She was given a lot of pain relief, but she also had more clear moments. She... She knew who I was, and she knew that I was there. I never left her side. Not even to sleep. The hospital had to put a cot in there because I refused to leave....”

Tiny suddenly whined, and Christie reached out and patted his head. “It’s airight, boy,” she soothed. She blinked again. “Naya had been in the hospital for a week when it happened. It was... actually very peaceful. It was in the middle of the night and her parents had left to get a few hours of sleep. It was just her and me. I had climbed into the bed with her even though I wasn’t really allowed to. I held her. Kissed her forehead and told her that I loved her. She couldn’t speak, so she had no option to say it back, but I could see it in her eyes. That was all I needed. I told her that it was okay. That she didn’t have to stay any longer when she was this tired. I knew she understood me. I kept stroking her hair and talking to her, and then... she was gone. Very peacefully. Almost like falling asleep, really. She, uhh... She died in my arms.” Christie blinked rapidly now, and I saw tears spill onto her pale cheeks. 

“My god, Christie,” I said with a voice that trembled with emotion. “I’m... I’m so sorry.” Instinctively, I reached out and brushed my fingertips across her cheeks to catch the tears. Knowing that Christie had lost the woman she loved before their life had barely begun was absolutely heartbreaking. 

“Naya was twenty three when she died,” Christie whispered. “I managed to get five years with her. Four years as her wife. and I’ll always be grateful for that. I’m certain we experienced more love than some people get in a lifetime.” She sniffled slightly. “I don’t regret anything. I’m not mad at her for leaving me. She had to. But I’ll always be sad that she didn’t get the chance to grow old with me. S-she wanted that. She really wanted that!”

I took Christie’s hand and squeezed it. “Christie, I’m so sorry! That’s terrible!” Married at nineteen and a widow at twenty three. Knowing that your wife is sick and seeing her slowly decay. Christie had been through things that made my own story seem so small and insignificant. Under no circumstances could it compare to losing the woman you loved before either of you had turned twenty five. 

“I don’t usually cry when I talk about Naya,” Christie murmured. She had not moved her hand away from mine. “I think it’s because I’ve told you the whole story...”

“Of course you’re crying now,” I said gently. “There’s nothing strange about that.”

“I stayed in London for a little while afterwards,” she hoarsely continued the story. “To participate in Naya’s memorial. But things didn’t go very well. After their daughter’s death, Naya’s parents showed their true colors. I think it was the knowledge that Naya had bequeathed her money to me that was the last straw for them. She had also made other arrangements that were to take place after her death, but the money was definitely what made her parents angry. Suddenly, I was ‘a little gold-digger who had taken advanced of the situation’. Money can bring out the worst in people, can’t it?”

“It sure can,” I said and felt my vision redden with anger on Christie’s behalf. She had just watched the woman she loved die. And Naya’s parents hadn’t offered her any comfort at all.

“I haven’t seen her parents since I left London,” Christie continued. “But if they should ever come here, I will not meet them with anger. Naya wouldn’t have existed without them. I owe them everything.”

“You are amazing,” I said without thinking. Perhaps the word came out unbidden, but it was the truth. Christie Rose Starling truly was amazing. Undoubtedly the strongest woman I had ever met.

“I don’t know about that,” Christie said softly. “There are days where everything is just... hard.”

“Of course there is. I would be surprised if that wasn’t the case.”

She turned her head, and I let my hand fall away from her cheek as she looked at me. Her eyes were misty and her cheeks rosy now that she had cried. “Now you know,” she said quietly. “Now you know why I don’t like hospitals.”

“Yes,” I said simply. I could not think of anything else to say. What could you say after hearing a story like Christie’s?

“I’m glad I told you, Helena Frost,” she murmured, voice still quiet. “I don’t know why, but for some reason, it felt like you deserved to know the story about Naya.”

“I don’t know if I deserve it,” I replied. “But I am glad that you told me. Sometimes telling is the only thing that works.”

“Aye,” she nodded, and her eyes flickered. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I think I’d like to be alone now. I’m really tired.”

“Of course. I understand.” I more than respected that. I rose from the couch. “Thank you for the tea.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked softly. 

Christie surprised me by smiling. “You can find me in the book café as always. I’ll be making chocolate and almond tart.”

“That sounds nice. I’ll be looking forward to that.” Once again, I acted on an instinct as I reached out and took her hand. Gave it a squeeze. “Bye, Christie.”

“Goodbye, Helena. See you tomorrow.”

“Yes. See you.” With that I released her hand and walked towards the hallway. I felt completely numb as I put on my coat and left the house. Good god, she has lost so much. I can’t believe she’s even capable of talking about it. How is she still standing? 

As I walked down the pathway, I turned around and peered in at her through the window. She was still sitting in the sofa, but Tiny was with her now, and my heart broke all over again when I saw the tiny woman hug the big dog and bury her face in his soft fur....


	33. Christie 18th of December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for 'The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo' ;)

18th of December, Shieldaig 06:23 AM

Christie

I actually felt very good the next morning. Surprisingly so. Light and easy. Like I had gotten something off my chest. A silly saying, really. There was nothing on my chest. 

“Today is going to be a good day, Tiny,” I told my dog as I munched my way through a slice of toast. “I can feel it.”

Tiny looked attentively up at me with his big blue eyes. 

“That’s right,” I nodded. “Today is gonna be good. I’m looking forward to going to work, and I’m looking forward to getting this place ready for Christmas later. We’re gonna deck the halls, Tiny!”

Tiny yipped and wagged his tail in excitement over something he didn’t quite understand what was. 

I chuckled. I felt good. I had slept well. Very well. I had gone to bed about 10:00, and I had slept all through the night and been awake a few minutes before the alarm went off at six am. The most realistic explanation as to why I was feeling so good this morning, would be because I had slept well. I was well-rested, and that meant a lot. But even though it was the most logic answer, I knew that it wasn’t the complete answer to my good mood this morning. I was in a good mood because I had told Helena about Naya. I meant what I said last night, for whatever reason Helena deserved to know about Naya. The story about my wife was not just a sad one. It was one of love. Of hope. Naya had appeared in my life at a time where everything was very difficult for me, and even though Naya was not with my physically any longer, she still was in spirit. All I had to do was close my eyes and think of her. Then I could see her. Her beautiful, dark eyes. Her bronze colored skin. The way she always smiled in a particular, crooked way. When I closed my eyes, I could feel her soft lips against my own. Feel her wild, coarse curls against my skin. Naya had often complained about her hair and now it never sat like she wanted it to sit. I had loved it. Had loved wrapped one of her coarse curls around my fingers as a way of stimming. I had loved the box braids too. She had gotten those especially for the wedding, and she had loved them so much she had decided to leave them. The texture had felt different than her curls, but I had gotten used to the braids. And in time, I had learned that they were even better to wrap around your fingers. I remembered all the nights we had spent cuddling in bed and I had stimmed by wrapping one of her braids around my fingers. 

But those were not sad memories. They were good memories. Nothing, and certainly not Naya’s death could taint those memories. She might only have been here briefly, but during that short time, she had been loved. So, so loved. Her wishes had come true. She had married like she had dreamed of ever since she was a little girl. She had graduated college. And she had spent her final years in a small Scottish village doing what she loved. Spreading her love for books. She had been with her wife and her dog. She had been happy. Her last years had been good. There had been no regrets, and she had not been in pain when she died. Knowing that she had went so peacefully and painless would always be comforting for me. Her death would always be a part of my memories, but so would her life and the time of it she had spent with me. I had a feeling that I would be celebrating her life more than mourning her death from now on. I had a wife once. I had not gone to college to drink and party the night away. Instead I had met a wonderful woman and gotten married only a year after I met her. Had we considered things thoroughly before deciding to get married? No. We had only been engaged for three weeks. But we hadn’t needed to consider it. There was nothing too consider. Was it young to get married at nineteen? Yes, perhaps. But it had worked for Naya and I. Did it mean that I thought that everyone should get married at nineteen? No, of course not. Just because it had worked for Naya and I, did not mean it would work out for everyone else. 

“Non, je ne regrette rien,” I said and quoted Edith Piaf. 

Tiny looked up at me. Maybe he understood French. Or maybe he did not. 

I smiled at him. “We loved Naya, didn’t we?”

His ears perked up when hearing her name. 

“We still love her. Nothing can ever change that,” I continued. “But... I think she might have been right, Tiny. Maybe I shouldn’t be alone for the rest of my life.” Something strange had happened to me. I didn’t only see Naya when I closed my eyes. I saw Helena too. I saw her smile and felt how she had touched my cheek yesterday. That had been nice. Maybe I wasn’t all that good with touching, and certainly not ‘surprise-touches’ like what she had done yesterday categorized under. But it hadn’t startled me. It had felt nice. Really nice. 

“Maybe I like Helena,” I told Tiny. ”Maybe I even like her more than I should.”

Tiny cocked his head at me.

“Yeah, I know. That’s not good. But we’re going to be late. Come on....”

The first thing I did after arriving at the book café, was lightening up the fireplace to make the place warm and cozy. I didn’t know how many customers that would be coming in today, but I knew there would be at least one. Helena. Gosh, just thinking about her made me zone out. I was so happy I had told her everything last night. It had been so easy to confide in her. Almost too easy. I found that I had no trouble with talking to her, and I didn’t quite understand why. Not that she was unpleasant to talk to, god no! But I always struggled with talking to people. I had struggled with talking to Naya too before getting to know her. But with Helena, nothing was difficult. Talking to her was just so.... easy. It was strange. She hadn’t been in Shieldaig for that long, and I already felt like I knew her well. Felt like I could confide in her. Perhaps it was because she was Mollie’s granddaughter. I knew Mollie well. She was one of the people I cherished most. And Helena was her granddaughter. Mollie’s blood was running through her veins. That had to be the logical explanation as to why I found it so easy to be around her, and why she in some sense was familiar. 

After having lit the fireplace, I went over to the gramophone and found an LP full of instrumental Christmas tunes. The tone arm started moving, and soon a gentle violin version of ‘O, Come All Ye Faithful’ floated into the book café. I caught myself spinning around and laughing. The music put me in a good mood. And so did the long sweater I was wearing. I had chosen a chunky cable knitted one in light blue today. I really liked the color. It made me think of the clear, blue sky I could see outside. I had tied my hair into a fishtail braid that fell over my left shoulder instead of the usual practical one that was tied in the back of my neck. This hairstyle was less practical, and I wasn’t as good at making this style as Naya had been, but I felt like I had done a very good job. 

I hummed along to ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ as I went over and took a look at the tarts and cakes on display. Yes, that looked nice too. Today’s specialty was chocolate and almond, and I couldn’t imagine that that wouldn’t fly well with the customers. 

I was in the middle of starting the kettle so I could have an extra cup of tea when the door opened. I poked my head out of the kitchen to see who this early customer was. I was half-expecting Vanessa. She sometimes liked to be here very early. But it was not Vanessa. It was Helena. My heart started racing, and instead of going out there to greet her, I stayed rooted to the spot. She could not see me, but I could see her, and I could not stop looking at her as she took off her long grey coat and hung it on the coat rack. Today she was wearing a grey pencil dress. A belt with a golden buckle was fastened around her waist, and I thought to myself that it really suited her. I liked how shiny the golden buckle was, but for once that wasn’t the thing, I was looking at the most. It was how nicely it sat on her waist. Helena had a really beautiful figure. I knew that there was certain beauty standards some women tried to fulfill. Like a slim waist, long legs, clear skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, and big assets both here and there. What did it matter? I had never understood beauty standards. How could you possibly judge if a person was beautiful just by looking at them? Beauty was not something you could judge by looking at them. Beauty was the thing happening when you saw a person smile for the first time. Or laugh for the first time. Beauty was how you were to other people. Beauty wasn’t something you could see. Sure, you could acknowledge that someone was pretty. But beautiful? You couldn’t possibly know that before you actually knew the person. That was how I perceived beauty.

I watched as Helena crouched down on the floor to greet Tiny. She chortled as she petted his head. “Hello, Tiny,” she softly greeted. “Are you a good boy today?”

Tiny reacted by rolling onto his back and presenting his belly to her. 

“I thought so,” Helena hummed as she rubbed his belly. “But are you here alone? Apart from the music, it’s so quiet here.”

Tiny made a slight snooting sound. 

“Really?” Helena said with false surprise in her voice. “Are you telling me that you’re here alone? Is it you who’s going to open the book café, hmm? Are you gonna serve tea and cake and find books? I’d like to see that.”

So would I. I actually could almost see it. Tiny carrying a tray full of cakes in his mouth. Tiny running upstairs and plucking books out of the shelves with his big mouth. I chuckled to myself. 

Helena’s head whipped up. “Christie? Are you here?”

Oops. I was revealed. Now she knew that I was lurking. I felt my cheeks flush as I emerged from the kitchen. “Hi.”

“Oh, hello,” Helena smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“I was just in the kitchen,” I replied and hoped that she didn’t know I had been lurking. Lurking was a creepy thing to do. 

“Oh, I see. How are you doing today?” Helena asked as she stood from the floor. Her black dress was full of dog’s hairs now, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“I’m doing alright,” I said and tried not to look at the way her golden hair fell over one shoulder when she stood like that. Then I remembered that it would be polite to ask... “And, how are you?”

“I’m alright,” Helena said. “But I have to admit that I had some trouble with falling asleep last night.”

“You did? Why?” had her bed been uncomfortable?

“Well, I think perhaps it was because of all the things you told me last night,” she said softly. 

“Oh.” Yes, that made sense. It was quite the story I had told her yesterday. “I’m... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Helena smiled. “You have nothing to feel sorry about. It was just... a big thing you told me.”

“Does it bother you?” I asked without thinking. 

She tilted her head, making her hair falling over one shoulder again. “Does what bother me?”

“That I’ve...” I swallowed something. I hadn’t planned on asking her about this. Why was I asking her about this?

“Does what bother me, Christie?” Helena asked softly.

My mouth felt dry, and I had a feeling that I was talking too fast and slurring my words when I said: “that I used to be married. That I’m a widow. I know it seems strange because Naya and I were so young when we married, but-“

“There’s nothing strange about that,” she gently interrupted me. “You married because you fell in love. You didn’t wait. I think that’s a beautiful thing. Going for it instead of wasting time. You and Naya had a wonderful life together, and I’m sorry it was cut short.”

“Five years isn’t a long time,” I agreed and fidgeted slightly with the chain around my neck. “But that was never what mattered the most to me. It was enjoying all the little moments we had together. Whether it was ten minutes. Or twenty minutes. Or five years. The mere fact that we even met each other in the first place was a miracle, and from the moment she told me she was sick, I decided that I would focus on enjoying her company for as long as she was here. Enjoy the privilege of being with her instead of being afraid of what would happen tomorrow or the next day.”

Helena shook her head for a moment, and her gaze was suddenly less focused. “Goodness me, you can’t do this to me.”

“Do what?” I was confused. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Helena said quickly. “You’re just... making me emotional, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Now I understood. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I use really big words without thinking about it.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Helena smiled. “But it might be a tad dangerous today, seeing that I just finished this.” she reached within her bag and found The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. 

“Did you like it?” I asked, waiting almost with baited breath. I so wanted Helena to like this particular novel. 

“It was beautiful!” Helena said eagerly. “Stunning and heartbreaking and everything in between. Evelyn was.... Well, she was...”

“A real person,” I finished the sentence. That was how I had seen Evelyn. She had been so charismatic and so raw, it was hard to believe that the story was a work of fiction and not a biography. 

“Exactly,” Helena nodded. “There were moments where Evelyn was a real person. She was so human. So flawed and imperfect. She never tried to glamourize things or to appear perfect. I think that’s what I loved most about this book.”

“Aye. Me too.”

“And the relationship between Evelyn and Celia....” Helena trailed off, and her expression grew soft again. 

I nodded without saying anything. The relationship between Evelyn and Celia was undoubtedly the most beautiful relationship I had read about. And Naya loved it too. She always wanted me to read the passage in which Evelyn and Celia finds one another again after so many years. That had been her favorite moment. 

“I could need a pick-me-up,” Helena said and interrupted my musings. “Do you have something lighthearted? And maybe something with Christmas in it too? ‘Tis the season and all that.”

I chuckled. “Aye, I do. If you make yourself comfortable, I’ll find a book for you.”

“Thank you.” She handed me the book, and I reached out to take it from her. Our fingertips brushed together very briefly, and I felt something warm spread in my chest. There was this intense urge to touch her again. The memory of her gently wiping my tears away suddenly flared up in my mind, and I felt myself flushing and looked down. “J-just take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright.” Helena turned around and found her usual spot by the fireplace. It didn’t take long before Tiny came and joined her, and I thought to myself that it was amazing, how much he liked her. He was completely smitten with her. I swallowed something and quickly excused myself.

I quickly went upstairs, and it didn’t take me long to find the book I was looking for. The Christmas Sisters by Sarah Morgan. It was a very uplifting novel. And most certainly a Christmas story too. One that actually took place right here in Scotland. It was perfect. I had a feeling that it would be the perfect cure for The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Not a way to forget it. You couldn’t forget the tale of Evelyn once you had read the book. That was impossible. Evelyn would stick to your mind like glue. This book was so, so important to me, and I was being a little extra careful as I put it on the shelf. I had been reading up from this book on the night Naya died. She had requested that, and of course I had complied. For a while, I hadn’t felt like sharing this book with anyone because it held so much meaning to Naya and I. But I felt good knowing that I had shared it with Helena. Helena was... Special. She had deserved to be introduced to Evelyn and Celia’s beautiful love story. Thinking about Helena distracted me, and I ended up stopping halfway towards the stairs. My mind was full of thoughts about golden hair and soft fingers touching my cheek. 

Then I remembered that I was at work and that Helena was waiting for her book.

When I came back downstairs, Vanessa had arrived. She was chatting briskly with Helena who was sitting comfortably in the plushy chair with Tiny’s head resting on her knee. I was surprised that I hadn’t heard Vanessa arriving. Perhaps I had gotten lost amongst the books. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“There we are,” I said lightly as I placed the book in front of Helena on the table.

“’The Christmas Sisters,’” Helena read aloud. “That sounds very idyllic.”

“It is very idyllic,” I confirmed. “And the story actually takes place in Scotland.”

“Well, that’s perfect then,” Helena smiled. “Thank you, Christie.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like an espresso?”

“No, I think I’d prefer a cup of tea today actually. All that coffee is not good for me.”

I silently agreed with that. “Alright. A cup of tea it is, then. And a slice of tart? It’s with chocolate and almond.”

“Yes, that would be nice too.”

“I’ll get that for you. Just push him away if he’s being a pain,” I said, nodding towards Tiny. “Sometimes he can be bit... insistent.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Helena assured. “He’s an absolute sweetheart. I’m afraid I might be getting a bit attached to him.”

“Looks like he’s getting attached to you too,” I muttered and then hastily skittered up to the counter so I could get her a slice of tart. 

Vanessa went into the kitchen to make the tea. I heard her putter around in the kitchen and hum to herself like I had done a moment ago. I tried not to think of Helena’s attachment to Tiny as I cut a generous slice of the chocolate-almond tart. It looked quite good. Maybe I would treat myself to a slice later. 

“Say, Christie are you going to Applecross tomorrow night?” Vanessa asked from the kitchen. “My folks and I are. And I heard Ramona Suarez say that she was going too. I think they’re planning on driving together in one car. If you want to come, you can drive with us.”

“Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m going this time,” I replied. Applecross wasn’t very far away, but I was a little insecure on whether I had the energy to go this year. I had been stressed out over the lack of customers lately, so maybe I could benefit from staying home. 

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Vanessa said. “Are you sure though? It was amazing the last time all of us went to Applecross. I mean the pictures we took were just...”

“What’s in Applecross?” Helena asked curiously. 

“Mirrie Dancers,” I told her. “A bunch of us always goes to Applecross to see it...” I trailed off as I journeyed back in time. Back to the first time Naya and I had gone to Applecross to see the Mirrie Dancers. The sight had moved Naya to tears, and she had insisted upon standing up and posing with the Mirrie Dancers as a background even though her legs were weak, and she shouldn’t be standing unnecessarily.

“Mirrie Dancers?” Helena repeated. “What is that precisely?”

“Northern Lights,” I quickly clarified and remembered that she wasn’t all that familiar with Scottish expressions. 

“Oh,” Helena breathed. “That sounds beautiful. I’ve never actually seen it myself, but grandma has told me about it. She can’t this year because of her leg, and now I realize that’s the reason why Margaret is coming over tomorrow night. Because she’s disappointed that she can’t go.”

I tilted my head and forgot the tart for a moment as I looked at her instead. “What are you gonna do tomorrow night then?”

Helena shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe go for a walk in the village.”

“Would you...” I licked my lips nervously and ordered myself not to speak too fast. “Would you like to see the Northern Lights?”

Helena looked up in surprise. “Why yes, that would be fantastic. But I thought you weren’t going?”

“Applecross is just an hour from here,” I said and neglected to tell her the truth. That I had changed my mind about not going the moment I heard the interest in her voice. “If you’d like, we could drive up there in my car. Or yours. Whatever you prefer.” I wasn’t sure if Helena would say yes. Maybe she preferred staying home with her grandmother. Maybe she had other things to do besides walking in the village. Or perhaps she simply wasn’t in the mood for driving anywhere. There were so many reasons why she could say no, and right now, all of those reasons were piling up in my head, and I could feel how much I wanted her to say yes. I truly wanted her to see the Mirrie Dancers now that she was in Scotland. I fiddled with my hands and felt tempted to look away when Helena looked directly at me. 

There was so much eye contact, and it was almost too much. 

Helena smiled. “I would love too, Christie. Thank you for asking me.”

“You’re... You’re welcome,” I said awkwardly and tugged at the collar of my sweater. “You have to dress warmly, though. It’s getting real cold up there. And it might take a real long time before we see anything. And it can be over in a couple of minutes. Or maybe we can’t even see anything because it gets cloudy...” why was I trying to scare her away? Why was I pointing out all the negative things about it? Be quiet, Starling. She said yes. Stop trying to make her change her mind. That’s not actually what you want.

“That’s quite alright. I like taking chances,” Helena said calmly and brushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear before opening her book. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Alright, then. It’s a deal,” I said and felt like I too had just taken a chance......


	34. Helena 19th of December

19th of December, Shieldaig 07:20 PM

Helena

“Is this appropriate for seeing the northern lights?” I asked as I looked at my reflection in the hallway mirror. I was wearing black trousers made of a thick, windproof material. Not quite the kind of trousers I normally wore. Neither was the coat. It was thick and boxy and made of the same windproof material. I didn’t exactly look fashionable, but that wasn’t the point either. The point was to dress appropriately for cold weather. 

“Oh yes, you look very nice,” grandma said, leaning heavily on her crutches.   
I cracked a smile. Very nice was definitely a stretch. But I did look warm, and that was the most important thing. “Alright then,” I said lightly as I grabbed the black fleece headband and popped it on. It made my hair look rather flat, but it warmed my ears, and I kept telling myself that today was not about looking fashionable at all. Today was about comfort and not getting cold. 

“Well, looks like I’m ready to go, then,” I said and vainly tried to make my hair seem a little bit more voluminous. 

It didn’t work. 

“Have a nice time, dear,” grandma smiled. “Seeing the northern lights is an experience for life.”

“I’m sorry you can’t go,” I said softly. 

“Then I will go next year,” grandma said lightly. “Don’t you worry about me, Nena. Margaret is coming over for tea and a game of cards.”

“That sounds nice. “Try not to win too much money from her,” I teased. 

Grandma huffed and cleverly changed the subject. “I am glad Christie told you about Naya.”

“Yeah. Me too. It was definitely surprising, but...”

“Christie is an unusual girl,” grandma said, repeating what she had said the other day. 

“Mm. Sure is.” I turned around and gave her a gentle hug. “I better get going, but I’ll see you later. Don’t strain your leg too much.”

“Of course not, dear,” grandma promised.

With that I gave her a kiss on the cheek and then I left the house...

My grandmother’s car was a little green VW Beetle from the sixties with a rounded roof. My grandmother had been driving this car for as long as I could remember, and over the years she often had complained about the engine. But today the engine was behaving impeccably, and I was relieved. I wouldn’t want any car troubles today when I was going to pick up Christie. 

I could soon park in front of Christie’s little white cottage. Christie’s cottage was lying further up the coastline. A bit separated from the cluster of cottages. Her cottage was lovely. And this place was beautiful. The loch in front and the mountains towering behind all the little cottages. It wasn’t difficult to understand why Christie and Naya had chosen this place. It radiated serenity and peace. You wouldn’t expect a young woman like Christie to live in this kind of place, but Christie was not an ordinary young woman. She was unusual. Exactly like grandma had said. Christie was special. Very special. 

As summoned by my thoughts, Christie emerged from the house. 

I couldn’t help the wide smile spreading on my lips when I saw her. She too had dressed appropriately for the occasion. She was wearing an enormous purple windbreaker with brown polka dots. The coat nearly swallowed her and made her seem even smaller than usually. Her red hair had been tugged away under a gray bubble hat with a furry pompom, and a huge rucksack was strapped to her shoulders. 

She spent a few seconds on locking the door, and then she came skittering towards the car. She was more dancing than walking, and once again I was reminded of a mystical creature who lived in the woods. 

She opened the door to the car and poked her head in. “Hi. You’re right on time!”

“I am,” I replied and chortled. She sounded positively delighted. She clearly appreciated punctuality. 

“Are you ready to drive?” Christie asked as she climbed inside the car. She moved the rucksack to stand on the car floor and then buckled her seatbelt. 

“I sure am. What do you have in that?” I asked and glanced towards the rucksack standing between her knees. 

“Just some blankets and something warm to drink,” she shrugged. 

“Oh. I didn’t think of that,” I said and acknowledged that I should in fact have thought of that. We were probably gonna be there for a couple of hours. Of course I should have considered that I might get thirsty in that timespan. 

“That’s alright. It’s a big thermos. There’s plenty for two people if you get thirsty.”

“Thank you. That’s very considerate of you.” 

Christie shrugged and her different colored eyes flickered. She looked away, and I got the feeling that she wasn’t that big on too much eye contact. But that was okay.

“Let’s get going,” I said and started the car....

The drive to Applecross was a very beautiful and scenic one. Once we reached A896, there was both water and mountains again, and I thought to myself that leaving this place would be more than hard. So I pushed the thought away. I would be here for another six weeks at least. Grandma needed my help to get around. It was reassuring to know that Margaret was with her right now.

And speaking of being together... 

“What is Tiny doing today?” I asked. 

“I can imagine that he’s sleeping,” Christie said deeply serious. “He does that a lot when I’m not home.” 

“He didn’t want to come with us? He was welcome to do so.”

“I thought it was better if he stayed at home today,” she replied in that soft, almost singing way she spoke in. “It’s supposed to get really cold later, and I don’t want him to freeze. He’s a big dog, but his fur isn’t that thick. And putting a shirt on him would only humiliate him.”

I chuckled. “Yes, I can imagine so. And how is Marilla doing?”

“Marilla is not with me anymore. I let her outside two days ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said simply. “She was supposed to be let outside. That was always the plan.”

“But you miss her, don’t you?”

“Aye, she was a sweet little girl. And it was nice when she sat under my sweaters. But she’s not a pet. She’s a wild animal. Wild animals belongs outside,” Christie said practically. 

“Yes, that’s true.”

Silence fell between us as we drove. Christie leaned back in the passengers seat and scratched her forehead. She was still wearing her bubble hat. Maybe it was itching. 

I struggled a bit. I really wanted to talk to her, but for some reason, I could not think of anything to say right now. I quelled a scoff. She wasn’t doing anything, and she was rendering me speechless. This wasn’t like being in the book café. I wasn’t reading, and she was not working. For some reason, the silence suddenly bothered me. “I’m sorry there’s no radio,” I ended up saying. I thought to myself that music would have been a pretty good way of making sure that there was no awkward pauses.

“It’s aight,” Christie said softly. “I’m actually not that big on listening to music while I’m driving. I always feel like the acoustic bothers me. It sounds weird.”

“I see.” Maybe she was right. Maybe music did sound weird coming from a car radio. And perhaps there was nothing awkward about the silence. Maybe the silence was completely natural. Maybe Christie was the type of person you could be quiet with....

A little while later, we arrived in Applecross, a stunning peninsula between mainland mountains masses and the island of Skye. According to Christie, only a few hundred people lived here, and the way she spoke of it, lead me to believe that she and Naya had considered to settle down here. Exactly why the choice fell on Shieldaig I did not know, but I was grateful. I never would have met her if she had lived in Applecross. 

The town of Applecross was stunning. Much like Shieldaig, there were clusters of little white cottages. Mountains and water. The more I saw of Scotland, the more I started wondering how I ever could have preferred London’s skyline. I felt better here. The air was cleaner. It was easier to breathe here. I felt calmer. And that concerned me. At some point, I had to go home. Right?

“This place is beautiful,” I said once I parked the car. 

“Aye. In Gaelic it’s called A’ Chomraich. It means the sanctuary,” Christie told me. 

“That’s very fitting. Exactly where are we going?” I asked. 

“Up,” Christie said simply and tugged at the straps on her rucksack as she started walking up the pathway towards the mountains.

“Right then.” the simple answer did make me smile. Christie didn’t waste any unnecessary words. I liked that. I imagined that her ‘straight to the point’ attitude made many things easier. 

Up we went. I congratulated myself with having chosen the sturdy hiking boots I had bought in Los Angeles and hadn’t worn much. I had had a vague idea about taking up hiking. My old GP in London had suggested that many times. It would improve my strength and mental health, he had told me. So I had dutifully bought a pair of ridiculously expensive hiking boots. But I hadn’t done much hiking in them.   
A half-hearted walk to the park was all I could muster. At first, I used the excuse that I was tired and didn’t have enough strength to walk that much. I fell into a depression. I hadn’t been in the mood to go outside. Which had been a mistake, I realized that now. 

Christie was walking fast. You wouldn’t believe that when you looked at her, but there was more to her than met the eye. She was both quick and agile. 

“Is the rucksack heavy?” I asked her. 

“No, it’s not that bad.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind carrying it for a little while.”

She chuckled. “It’s aight. I’m used to carrying or pushing heavier stuff.”

“Like...?”

“Naya’s wheelchair,” Christie said softly. “She and I were here two months before she died. She loved the view from the top.”

“So you pushed her wheelchair all the way up there?” I asked slightly disbelieving and glanced at the mountain. 

“Aye. It did get a little heavy by the end of the journey. I was also driving another car back then. A mini-bus. But I had to sell it.”

“Is it... okay for you to come back here?” I asked gently. I didn’t want her to get sad over the memories this place held for her.

“Yes. It’s a beautiful place. Full of good memories. Maybe I can even see Naya in the sky later.”

“I don’t think I understand what you mean,” I said softly. “But you don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to.” I didn’t want to pressure her into talking about her wife. She had already told me so much about Naya. 

“She was my unicorn,” Christie said simply. “Colorful and stunning. Here one moment and gone the next. Like a mythical creature.”

“That’s a beautiful way of describing her,” I said and cleared my throat. There was a lump in it. The love radiating from Christie’s voice when she spoke of her late wife was almost too much to bear, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to loose your wife at just twenty three. 

It was twilight by the time we reached the top of the mountain. The sky had gone from bright blue and to a darker, inkier shade. It was a little bit colder up here, and I was glad that my vanity hadn’t won and that I had dressed appropriately instead. It didn’t matter that I looked bulky. I was not on my way to a lunch on a fancy restaurant. I wasn’t here to be seen. I was here too see. 

“There we are,” Christie said as she shrugged her rucksack off and unzipped it. 

“What a view,” I said and smiled and waved at Vanessa and her parents who had settled a bit further down the mountain. They were here to see the northern lights too. 

Christie had opened the rucksack and was now hauling several things out of it. Four thick blankets. An extra pair of mittens. An extra hat. Ear muffs. Two mugs. And a thermos. 

“Wow. You came prepared,” I half-joked. 

She smiled shyly. “I always pack too much when I leave home. It’s a habit.”

“I think it’s pretty sensible, actually. Rather pack too much than too little.”

“Aye.” She handed me the thermos. “Would you like some? It’s hot chocolate.” 

“Thank you.” I took the thermos and took the lid off. Then I poured the steaming hot chocolate into the mug she was holding ready. When it was filled, we switched so she took the thermos and I got the mug. 

“Sit down,” she said and nodded towards the two thick blankets she had laid out on the ground. I followed the gentle order. A   
moment later she did too, and we lightly clinked our mugs of hot chocolate together. The chocolate was very good. Warmed me to the core. But perhaps that wasn’t just because of the warm beverage......

If it was cold to wait on top of the mountain, I did not notice. Nor did I pay much attention to how long we sat there and waited. I did not freeze. I was sitting on one thick, fuzzy blanket and had another draped around my shoulder. Now I understood why Christie had brought four blankets. Two for sitting on. And two for wearing. My belly was full of hot chocolate and my heart was full of warmth. I hadn’t expected anything when I impulsively decided to go to Scotland. I hadn’t expected to extend my trip. I hadn’t expected to make such a radical decision about writing. And I certainly had not expected to meet someone like Christie. And most of all... I hadn’t expected the peace this place would bring me. No. Not this place. As wonderful as Scotland is, that is not what is bringing me peace. It’s Christie. It had to be. Tonight when I was sitting so close to her, the feeling was stronger than ever, and I couldn’t decide whether I should tell her or not. Because in reality it had only been nineteen days since I met her, and you weren’t supposed to feel this strongly about anyone after just nineteen days. That wasn’t how it worked. At least not for me. I had always been more cautious. 

But Christie was not Hannah. She couldn’t be compared to anyone. Because there was no one who was quite like her. I had heard the term ‘not like other girls’ used a million times, and I had always found it to be rather cliché. But now I had in fact met someone who genuinely wasn’t ‘like other girls’. Christie was so unapologetically herself. And she didn’t even make an effort to stand out. She had described herself as having ‘a familiar face’. But that was simply not true. She did not have a familiar face. At least not in the traditional way. There was this silly little part of me who was convinced that I somehow knew her. But I just had to quieten that little part of myself. Because I knew that wasn’t true. I had not met Christie before. 

“Are you cold?”

I blinked and realized that I had been looking at her for a while. “No,” I said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you bored?” she asked a tad worriedly. “I know there’s not a lot to do up here besides waiting.”

“Bored?” I repeated and chuckled. “Are you kidding me? I doubt anyone in their right mind could be bored up here.”

She let out a soft, sweet laughter. “Aye. That’s how I feel about this place too.” 

I gave a quick nod. and then busied myself with looking at the other people who had ventured up the mountain. Most of them had settled further down. Perhaps they found it too windy on the top. I supposed the wind could be annoying for some. I wasn’t bothered by it. But definitely distracted. Because strands of Christie’s red hair was blowing around and I had the strongest urge to reach out and catch a lock of it between my fingers.

The sky was dark now. It was pitch black around me. I could barely see Christie. But I knew that she was there because of the little puffs of white smoke that was her breath. It had gotten very cold. I had borrowed Christie’s extra pair of mittens, and she had almost swaddled herself in the thick blanket. I could hear the excited mutters from the other people here further down the mountain. Someone had a flashlight, and I was actually grateful for the moments where the light was cast up here. Because I could see that Christie was looking at me. I wondered what she was thinking. A part of me wanted to ask her. 

“Any moment now,” she said and brought me out of musings. “If Mother Nature doesn’t change her mind, that is.”

“Let’s hope not,” I said. 

“No, that would be unfortunate. Otherwise I have dragged you up here for no reason,” she muttered. 

“You didn’t drag me anywhere, Christie. I came because I wanted to. I... I like being with you.” Perhaps it was a bold thing to say, but I had to. There was no way around it. Sitting here in the darkness with her somehow made it easier to speak truthfully. 

There was a moment of silence between us, and then: “I like being with you too, Helena Frost.” 

I smiled even though she couldn’t possibly see it in the darkness. “Thank you for asking me to come with you.”

“You had to see the Mirrie Dancers before going home to London.”

“I am not going anywhere for at least six weeks,” I said firmly. 

“You’re not?”

“No. Grandma needs my help. I can’t just leave her to hobble around on those crutches. And I like Scotland. I like it a lot.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Christie agreed. “Especially Shieldaig. I couldn’t imagine going back to Edinburgh. I had feared that Shieldaig would become a bad place after Naya died, but that hasn’t happened, and now I never wanna leave. I belong here.” 

Yes, and I’m starting to think that so do I. I had been so much happier since coming to Shieldaig. I had reconnected with my grandmother in a way that made me unwilling to leave. What did I even have in London? What kept me there? An impersonal apartment I didn’t feel at home in? A couple of fleeting friendships? I had lived in London most of my adult life, and I hadn’t yet met anyone I considered to be a genuine friend. I had been in Shieldaig for nineteen days, and Ramona Suarez and Mr. Jensen and the other customers from the book café already treated me like I was a friend they had known for years. 

That did make one wonder. I had always considered the pulse of the big city to be exactly what I needed. Now I wasn’t so sure anymore. 

I turned my head and looked at Christie. London lacked many things. 

I felt Christie shuffle next to me. Felt her hand on my arm, and my heart almost skipped a beat. 

“Look up, Helena,” she said quietly. 

I must have had looked at her for longer than what I thought. The sky had been inky black and covered in stars when I looked away from it. It had been beautiful then, but now it was completely stunning. I heard myself gasp as I looked up at the bright, dancing lights on the sky. I tilted my head back to make sure I could see everything. Every last little detail. The lights were beautiful, swaying and changing and illuminating the world in a way I had never seen before. A ribbon of emerald green first, but as it grew stronger, I could see other colors too. More vibrant ones. Pink. Yellow. Blue. Violet. Even orange. 

Every color more stunning than the first one, and even more beautiful when blending together like this. It was not difficult to understand why Christie associated this with a unicorn. It was easy to imagine a unicorn galloping across the sky and making the colors spark from its hooves. I thought to myself that this sight was enough to make even the most stubborn of writing blocks go away. I would never feel as inspired as I did right now. Then I acknowledged that I was being ridiculous, because how could I possibly think of something as insignificant as writing when seeing this? When the colors dancing across the sky truly was the only thing that mattered. I would never witness anything like this again. And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to find out if there was something that could compare to this moment. This sight that not even the most talented author could have described.

The ribbon expanded and expanded until it covered the entire sky and illuminated the white snow on the ground. My heart pounded in my chest. I could not believe my eyes. It almost felt dangerous to blink. Suppose this magnificent sight would be gone if I did? I did not care if my eyes started burning. There was no way I would stop looking at this. This ribbon of colors with a billion stars dotted all over it. 

“My god,” I whispered. There was no other way to describe it. 

“Aye,” Christie said simply.

I noted how quiet everyone had gone. Before, there had been brisk chitchat and laughter, but now there was only faint muttering. And lights from cellphone screens being held up to immortalize this moment. 

“I don’t understand that,” Christie murmured. 

“What?” I asked. 

“The cellphones,” she clarified and nodded towards the illuminated screens. “Why do people have the urge to take a picture or a video of this? To post it on Facebook? What’s the point? I never would be satisfied with seeing it through a screen.” She sighed and looked back up at the stunning night sky. “Isn’t it enough to simply be here? Take it all in and keep it to yourself. Because no matter how many pictures you post of it on social media, they wouldn’t be able to tell the world exactly how you felt in that moment.”

“And how do you feel right now?” I softly asked her. 

“I feel small,” she said without skipping a beat. “Small and insignificant. But not in a bad way, though. I feel reminded that things can’t be that bad when there are still things like this.” she drew in a breath. “I know that compared to this, I am a small. Just a tiny dot. But that’s okay. That’s how it’s supposed to be. But in some ways, I also feel big. Stronger. I feel like the colors gives me strength. I feel like.... Like the colors are... in me. I’ve always believed in magic, but seeing this...” Christie glanced up at the magnificent sky. “....Only strengthens my belief.”

“That is...” I didn’t finish the sentence and shook my head in quiet amazement over the unusual, yet poignant description. Big and small at the same time. I had never heard a more fitting description for anything. 

“Oh,” she frowned in the bright light. “Was that a weirdly convoluted explanation? I’m sorry,” she let out a soft thrill of laughter. “I sometimes use too big words when I am really enthralled by something.” 

I was enthralled by her. The girl who believed in magic. The girl I couldn’t believe was real. And I suddenly noticed that she still had one hand on my arm. Now I gently placed my hand on top of her. She did not flinch. Just looked up at me with eyes that seemed to suck all the colors in. “You are wonderful, Christie Rose Starling,” I said softly. 

“So you don’t mind the big words?” she asked and frowned. “I use them too much.” Her gaze flickered slightly.   
“And you’re not all that keen on too much eye contact either, are you?” I gently asked. 

“You’ve noticed.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know it’s rude to look away, but too much eye contact makes me feel nervous and awkward. And so does crowds. And sometimes new situations. I also easily gets distracted. And especially when I’m doing something I really love.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” I told her. “Nothing at all.”

Her gaze flickered again. Her chin dipped as she looked down at my hand that was still on top of hers. “You have such pretty hands,” she murmured.

I chuckled quietly. “Thank you.”

Christie looked back up at me, and once again, her eyes seemed to steal the colors illuminating the stars. “I’m autistic,” she said after a moment.

“Okay,” I said simply. I couldn’t say that I was surprised. I had for a while suspected that there was a reason why Christie said and acted like she did. 

“Does that... Does that bother you?” she asked, and her eyes radiated concern and doubt.

I let out a quiet little sigh of pure disbelief. “Does it bother me that you have something that makes you completely unique and unlike anyone I’ve ever met? Does it bother me that you have something that makes you speak of colors and how they make you feel in the most wonderful way I’ve ever heard? Does it bother me that the way you see the world difference from how we see it? No, Christie. It does not. Because I don’t think it’s possible to perceive the world in a more beautiful way than you do.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “You are... pretty wonderful too, Helena Frost. Sorry, I don’t know if you have a middle name or not. You haven’t told me.”

“My middle name is Claire,” I chuckled. 

“Claire,” she repeated and looked like she was tasting a new dish. “He-LAY-na Claire Frost. That’s nice. It fits you.”

“Thank you.” I moved my other hand to her cheek. She did not flinch, and I gently prompted her to turn her head. When she did, I could still see the colorful ribbon on the sky reflected in her eyes. I could drown in those eyes. Completely and utterly. “Why does it feel like I know you?” I murmured and wished the light on the sky was so bright I could see her freckles properly. 

“I do not know, Helena,” she quietly replied. 

“Are you certain that we have not met?” I asked. A part of me stubbornly insisted that I must have met her at some point.

“Aye. We haven’t. I have a very good memory, and I don’t think I would have forgotten if I met you.”

That was it. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had follow my instincts and my heart and do the thing I had longed to do ever since I first laid eyes on her. I slowly leaned and brushed my lips against hers, and I swear, in that moment, the northern lights became completely insignificant. Because right now... This was the greatest. I was kissing Christie Starling. Christie Starling was kissing me, and her lips tasted very faintly of strawberry, and her cheek was so soft and smooth. The strands of hair that refused to stay tugged away under her bubble hat tickled my cheek. Her hair smelled nice. Strawberry too.   
Perhaps that was her favorite scent. Now it was my favorite scent too. Suddenly I felt completely beside myself. This was merely a soft, gentle kiss. And my heart still acted like I had just ran a marathon. It was racing in my chest. Almost skipping beats. I felt breathless in a way that shouldn’t have been possible only by doing this. Had some part of me known that I would kiss Christie tonight? Had I actually been psyching myself out? Was that the reason why my heart was acting all stupid? 

The old sense of panic forced me to gently pull back. I needed to breathe. 

“That was overwhelming in the best kind of way,” Christie said quietly and flashed me a little smile. 

“Yes, it was,” I said and took a deep breath. Reminded myself that I was more than capable of breathing. There was absolutely no reason to panic. 

“You look worried,” Christie observed. “Are you okay? Was it... not good?”

I chuckled. Gently, to make sure she knew that I wasn’t laughing at her. “It was wonderful,” I assured her. “My heart is just racing.”

“And that makes you worried.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes, it does,” I willingly admitted. “I tend to get paranoid if my heart speeds up.” 

Christie tilted her head at me, and once again she proved how incredibly perceptive she was when she said: “it sounds like there’s a story there.”

“There is.” god how there is!

“Do you want to tell me that story?” she asked softly. “It’s okay if you don’t. You don’t have too...”

“I do want to,” I replied and brushed my thumb over her cheek. “But not right now. Everything about this is so perfect, and I don’t want to make it less perfect by start talking about hard stuff.” 

“I understand,” Christie nodded. 

“Tomorrow,” I promised. I wanted to confide in her like she had just confided in me about her autism. 

“Whenever you are ready, Helena,” she said gently. “I’m not going to rush you.”

I smiled and wrapped my arm around her. She leaned closer, another perfect moment. One it would be a shame to ruin. But tomorrow.... Tomorrow I would tell her everything like she had told me about her autism. And Naya. If Christie could open up to me, a woman she hadn’t known for that long, about her wife, I could tell her about the darkest, hardest chapters in my life. 

Tomorrow. 

For right now.... I gave her a very soft squeeze, and she turned my head and smiled at me before gazing up at the dancing lights on the sky.

The northern light was indeed stunning. But they couldn’t possibly measure up to the woman I currently had my arm around....


	35. Christie 20th of December

20th of December, Shieldaig 05:40 AM

Christie

I could not stop smiling when I opened my eyes. A quick glance on my clock radio told me that it would be another half an hour before my alarm went off, so I took a moment where I just laid in bed and thought about last night. Helena and I had kissed each other. And that had been really, really nice. Well, of course it had been more than nice, but right now, nice was about the only thing I could think of. 

Her hand had been soft on my cheek. Her breath had tickled my face, and she had tasted of hot chocolate. 

I rolled over and came face to face with Tiny. He was not awake yet. Lazy bones. “I kissed Helena last night,” I told him. He lifted his head and looked at me. I imagined that he looked surprised, but in reality, he probably just looked sleepy. 

“Yes, that’s right,” I half-chuckled. “I did.”

Now he tilted his head, and I felt very amused as I sat up in bed and ran my fingers through my hair. It was messy and my scalp was itching. I needed a shower. And I needed to brush my teeth. But for some reason, I found that my routine could wait another minute or two. I was busy absorbing what had happened last night. We had kissed each other and watched the Mirrie Dancers. The sky had lit up in bright colors for another half hour. I had seen my unicorn in all the different shades in the swirling ribbon. Naya had been there last night. She had looked down upon me. And she had smiled. 

I turned my head and looked at the frame picture of her and me taken on our wedding day. “You’re not mad, are you?” I softly asked Naya. “You’re not mad that I’m fond of Helena, are you?” Naya wasn’t here to answer, but I knew her reply anyway. No, she was not mad. She wanted me to move on. That’s what she had told me a million times when we found out that her illness was progressing fast. I had promised her that I would not be alone for the rest of my life once she was gone. At the time, the promise hadn’t been a completely truthful one because being with someone that wasn’t Naya had at the time been unthinkable. But now... now I felt like I was ready to move on. With Helena. Lovely Helena. Sweet, kind, patient Helena. Just thinking about her made me feel all funny inside. We had only kissed each other once. Not again after the Mirrie Dancers had stopped. Not when we arrived back in Shieldaig and she dropped me off at my cottage. But she had squeezed my hand gently and said that she looked forward to coming into the book café tomorrow. Which now was today. Helena was coming into the book café today. She had promised to tell me a story. I hoped she remembered it. She had looked so worried last night when her heart had started pounding fast. Almost like she was having a panic attack. Or about to have one. 

I brought a finger up to my upper lip and lightly began tracing it. I hadn’t expected to kiss Helena last night. But I certainly hadn’t minded it. I hadn’t expected to be so open with her either. Telling her about my autism was a big deal. But Helena hadn’t looked all that surprised. She had looked way more surprised when I had told her about Naya. Logically, that made sense. Being a widower at twenty five wasn’t exactly the usual. Thank goodness. But perhaps Helena had suspected that there was something different about me. Naya had. I had been so nervous when I told her about my autism. I was used to experiencing that the revelation made people see me differently. Act differently around me. And treat me differently. Some of them had gotten insecure on how to act around me. Some of them had infantilized me. But Naya had just shrugged and went ‘okay’. My diagnosis hadn’t changed anything for her. And it clearly did not change anything for Helena either. I remembered what she had said last night. ‘Does it bother me that you have something that makes you completely unique and unlike anyone I’ve ever met? Does it bother me that you have something that makes you speak of colors and how they make you feel in the most wonderful way I’ve ever heard? Does it bother me that the way you see the world difference from how we see it? No, Christie. It does not. Because I don’t think it’s possible to perceive the world in a more beautiful way than you do.’ That was really beautiful. She thought that the way I perceived the world was beautiful. I had never thought about it that way. I was used to my way of thinking being considered kooky, but not beautiful. In that way, Helena was a breath of fresh air. 

In many ways, Helena is a breath of fresh air, I corrected myself as I got out of bed and picked up the clothes, I had chosen last night. I turned around and left the bedroom, walking towards the bathroom but almost tripped over my own feet. I seemed to be quite distracted this morning. Was this how it felt to be in love? I wasn’t sure. Of course I had been in love with Naya. She had been my first girlfriend. My first kiss. My first love. My first.... everything. But what I felt for Helena was completely new and fresh. 

“No dogs in the bathroom, Tiny!” I interrupted my train of thoughts and hastily slipped into the bathroom before Tiny could follow her. A girl needed her privacy......

A half an hour later, I was braving the weather to get to The Storybook Nook. The snow had started falling again, and I reminded myself to find out what the forecast said. It sure looked like there would be another storm. 

I was too early, but I had been eager to get to the book café as soon as possible. I wanted to be here so I could see when Helena was coming down the street. 

The wind blew harder, and I mashed my bubble hat over my ears. Was it really supposed to get so windy today? How was I supposed to bring home a Christmas tree when it was this windy? I had planned on doing that later today after I finished my shift. That was the last thing I needed. I had already decorated the place for Christmas. I might have gone slightly overboard with all the glittering lights, but who was gonna judge me for it? I loved Christmas. I always had. I reminded myself to buy some wrapping paper too so I could wrap the mittens I had knitted for Mollie. I usually had three people I bought presents for. Mollie. Vanessa. And Mr. Jensen. And Tiny, of course, but he didn’t categorize under ‘people’. As I walked with my hands firmly planted on either side of my head to keep the hat in place, I wondered if there would be one more person for me to buy a Christmas present this year. Helena. What does she want for Christmas? Perfume? Not that she needs it. She already smells nice. But I’m sure she’s the kind of woman who likes perfume. I had never been particularly big on perfume. I liked when other women- no. I had liked when Naya had been wearing perfume. She was the only one I could compare Helena to. Naya’s favorite scent had been coconuts. Coconut shampoo and balsam for her hair. Coconut soap for her body. And coconut perfume for her wrists and the sides of her neck when we were going out. Any kind of perfume was usually jarring for me. I had always found the scents to be too overwhelming, but I had learned to get used to Naya’s coconut scented everything. And I had even learned to love the scent. She was the reason why I had a bottle of coconut hand cream standing on my bathroom shelf. Maybe I can learn to love whatever perfume Helena is wearing too. But I’m getting sidetracked. I was supposed to figure out what to get her for Christmas. I considered it. Maybe Helena didn’t want anything for Christmas. There were some people who didn’t give or receive presents for Christmas, and perhaps Helena was that kind of person. Or maybe she didn’t want a present from me. Perhaps that was too soon. We had only kissed once. We weren’t... Together. Not like Naya and I had been in the time we dated. We had grown so close so quickly. Marriage had just been the next sensible step. We hadn’t wanted to waste any time because Naya was ill. But this was different. Helena was not ill. She was as healthy as could be. And that meant that things could and would happen a lot slower. I was fine with that. Not because everything happening so fast with Naya had been wrong, definitely not. It had been completely natural. But taking it slower with Helena was natural too.

There was a surprise waiting for Tiny and I when we made it to the book café.

Helena. She was standing outside, lightly bouncing from side to side and rubbing her glove clad hands in an attempt to keep warm. 

“Hi,” I said, the surprise making my voice sound all squeaky. I cringed. 

“Good morning,” Helena greeted and smiled. 

My heart started thrumming. She had such a pretty smile. “You are here early,” I said. 

“I could not wait,” she half-chuckled. “And grandma is doing some secret online Christmas shopping. Apparently, she needed the house to herself in order to do that, so here I am.”

“Aye. Here you are. Would you like to come inside?” God, Starling! Quit being so stupid! Of course she’d want to come inside! You think she’d prefer to keep standing outside in the cold? Use your head!

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

I wiggled a hand inside the pocket of my coat and found the key. I fumbled a little to insert it into the lock. Helena was standing right behind me, and that distracted me more than I wanted to admit. After a moment, I managed to get the door unlocked and pushed it open. As per usual, Tiny was the first one to wiggle through the open door. 

“Tiny,” I lightly scolded. “Don’t push past Helena like that. It’s not nice.”

Helena chuckled. “That’s quite alright. I can see why he wants to get inside quickly. It’s quite cold today.”

“Aye, it sure is,” I agreed as I stepped aside so she could get in first. 

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” I followed her inside the book café and closed the door behind me. Flicked on some light and then took off my boots, coat, mittens, and hat. My hair felt a bit messy and my clothes a bit ‘flat’ after having been pressed together under the big coat. I gave my purple sweater a quick tug and then turned around. Helena was taking off her coat as well. She was wearing jeans again. Jeans and another sweater. One of those cable knitted ones that had this really big collar. I liked it. The Bordeaux color suited her. Made it stand out. I liked her hair. I liked how golden it was. How smooth it looked. Would it be smooth to touch too? Soft? I wanted to find out. 

Perhaps she became aware that I was watching her. She turned around, smiled warmly at me and then extended her hands out. “Hello.” 

A very small part of me focused on the fact that she had already said that, but my instinct told me that she didn’t just mean hello as in... hello. 

“Hello,” I parroted, and my sock clad feet made a soft sound as I walked over to her.

Helena took my hands and drew me closer. I noted that her hands were warm despite how cold it was outside. Maybe Helena was just one of those people who were permanently warm no matter what. I liked that thought. 

“Thank you for last night,” she said softly and squeezed my hands slightly. 

“You’re welcome. It was nice.”

She chuckled. “Yes, it was very nice.”

I had meant that the kiss was nice, but now I was unsure of what she was referring to. The Mirrie Dancers or the kiss? She had to clarify. “Which part of it? The light on the sky or the kiss?” 

She chuckled again. Gave my hands another little squeeze. “It would probably be blasphemy to say that anything can be better than the northern lights-“

“Yes, absolutely.” 

“-But the kiss was better,” she concluded her sentence and didn’t seem the least bothered by my interruption. “I hope you feel the same.” 

“Aye, I do,” I nodded. “And I saw the colors when I was kissing you. In my head. I didn’t eve, have to open my eyes.”

In response to that, Helena pulled me a little closer. I could feel her hair tickle the side of my neck, and curiosity won over etiquette. “Can I touch your hair?” I asked. I just had to know if it really was as soft as I imagined it to be. 

Helena looked surprised but not like she found me to be strange. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” I reached up and combed my fingers through her honey-blonde locks. Yes, her hair was exactly as soft as it looked. Naya’s hair had been a bit more coarse, but I had always enjoyed playing with it. And when she got her braids, I had enjoyed fiddling with those. But touching Helena’s hair was like running my fingers through water. 

“That feels nice,” she murmured. “How does it feel for you?” 

“Your hair is so soft!” 

“And I take it that’s a good thing,” she said warmly, and her palm found my cheek. That felt nice too. I wanted to kiss her again. But it was early morning, and maybe she didn’t fancy kissing first thing in the morning. I knew that I had never liked morning kisses. At least not before my teeth were brushed. I had always jumped out of bed and into the bathroom to brush my teeth even before kissing Naya good morning. She had always found it amusing. 

“You look like you’re thinking really hard about something,” Helena said softly. “What is on your mind?”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” I asked her. 

She smiled. “Yes, Christie. That is more than okay.”

So I did. I leaned in. Had to stand on my tippy toes which was a bit annoying, but it did not matter when my lips touched Helena’s. They were soft too. Exactly as soft as they had been last night. Yes, kissing her this morning was precisely as nice as it had been last night. Not that I had been worried or anything, but last night, with the sky lightening up in different colors, had been special. The place had been special. The mood had been special. I had wondered if kissing her today would feel just as special. Every kiss I had shared with Naya had been special because I did not know how many times I would get the privilege of kissing her. Our kisses and relationship had come with a limit none of us knew. It was different with Helena. There wasn’t a limit. Well, no, in some way there was, because at some point she would leave. But we wouldn’t be separated the same way Naya and I was separated. I chose to believe that Helena would not disappear for good. Kissing her was just so nice. It made me feel all fuzzy inside. Like I had just drunken a big cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream. She made me feel all weak and strange. Like my legs couldn’t carry me. I suppose the term I was looking for was that she was ‘giving me butterflies’, but I had never quite understood that. Give you butterflies? That wasn’t even possible. And feeling butterflies in your stomach? No, thank you. That did not sound nice at all. No. I preferred thinking that her kisses had the same effect as hot chocolate. Just... stronger. 

I gave her one last little peck and then pulled back slightly. Not because I didn’t want to kiss her any longer, but my legs were really starting to act all funny. It was better to stop while I could still stand.

Helena playfully bumped her nose against mine and chuckled. 

“Am I still good at kissing?” I asked and immediately felt foolish for asking. But I had to. It had been two years since I had last kissed anyone. And I hadn’t kissed Naya on the lips for the last five months of her life. She had needed her mouth for breathing. Not kissing. 

“You’re wonderful at kissing,” Helena assured, but I could see a little wrinkle between her pretty blue eyes. 

“Then why are you worried?” I asked simply. 

“Because I did not ask you last night. If I could kiss you. I just did it.”

“Oh! Well, you didn’t need to. I wanted you to kiss me,” I said quickly. 

“Still,” Helena said, taking my hands between her own and squeezing them. “In the future, I’ll remember to ask you. I don’t want you to feel surprised or overwhelmed.”

“You’ve been reading about autism and sensory issues, haven’t you?” I asked and snickered slightly. 

“I have,” she confirmed. “Was that okay? I hope I haven’t overstepped anything by doing that.”

“Of course you haven’t,” I said lightly. “I think it’s very considerate of you to try and learn about my disorder.”

“As much as I can online anyway,” Helena said and squeezed my hands again. “After all, you can’t just pile all autistic people into the same category.”

“No, you cannot. I wish more people would understand that. Not two autistic people are the same.”

“That’s true. In the future, I will be asking you if I’m in doubt of anything,” Helena decided and released my hands again. 

“I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have,” I said, and then I was distracted by the way the light was reflected in her hair. “Your hair is full of sunshine!” oops. That was completely random. Could you at least try and think about the stuff that comes out of your mouth, Starling?!

But Helena just smiled. “And yours is full of fire.” 

“Well, as long as it’s not on fire,” I quipped and felt all satisfied because I successfully had made a joke that fitted the conversation. I sometimes had some problems with that. 

Helena chuckled. 

“And speaking of fire, I should probably get the fireplace going,” I remembered. “It’s a bit cold in here. Then I can make you some tea afterwards if you’d like. You can just sit down and relax.”

“Or I could make the tea?” Helena suggested. “We could have a cup together before you start opening the place?”

“Oh, aye! That sounds nice!” I beamed. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like opening the book café much. I didn’t feel like receiving customers. I just wanted to talk to Helena. 

“Earl Grey?” she asked as she headed towards the kitchen, closely followed by Tiny. 

“Earl Grey,” I confirmed. “And just shove Tiny out if he’s in the way. He’s not actually supposed to be in the kitchen. And he knows it.”

“Oh, I never could shove him out,” Helena said, feigning disbelief. “He’s simply too adorable to be shoved anywhere.”

“And big.”

“And big,” she agreed and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard her rummage around to make the tea. She was talking to Tiny too, and that earned her another solid hundred points in my book. Tiny loved being included. And talked to. He was funny like that. And I had probably spoiled him. I couldn’t help it. He was my buddy. My best friend apart from Julie, of course. If someone didn’t like Tiny, I didn’t like them. And Helena loved Tiny. I smiled to myself as I crouched down in front of the fireplace. Found a log in the basket and the box of matches. It took a few attempts, but I managed to light one of the matches. And I managed to light a fire. My timing was good. As I rose to my full height and turned around, Helena emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. 

“We can sit here,” I said, nodding towards her usual table. 

Helena sat the mugs of tea down on the table, and we sat down in the plushy chairs. It didn’t take long before she reached across the table. Wiggled her fingers in a way that suggested she wanted to hold my hand. I willingly let her do so. I was starting to realize how touch starved I was. 

“I think I owe you a story, don’t I?” Helena asked and started dragging her thumb over the soft spot between my thumb and index finger. How does she know that I love that?

“You don’t owe me anything,” I said quickly. 

“Perhaps not,” she agreed. “But I still want to tell you, though.”

“Airight.”

“But first I want to ask you something,” she continued. Now she was making small circles with her thumb. “Do you want to go to the pub with me tomorrow night?”

“Like... a date?” I asked. Just to be sure I hadn’t misunderstood anything. 

“Yes. Like a date.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” I said immediately. I did not need to think about it or anything. I wanted to go on a date with Helena. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been on a date. Naya and I didn’t go out for the last year and a half. She was too ill. I can barely remember how you do this kind of stuff. What should I wear? How do I do my hair? Helena has seen me with a braid so often and I’m afraid it’s getting bor-

“Great,” she interrupted my train of confused thoughts and smiled. “I’ll be looking forward to that. Now for that story...” she cleared her throat. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Helena.”

“I want to. You’ve told me so many things. I want to give something back,” she took a breath. “Do you remember how I got nervous because my heart started racing?”

“Aye.” I had been confused about that. 

“The thing is... I’ve had a... no.” she frowned and shook her head. “I was about to say a health scare, but it was more than a health scare. Five years ago, I quit my job as a journalist to become a fulltime writer instead. I was tired of my job as a reporter. I had written one book in between working, but had decided that I wanted to follow my dream of becoming a ‘proper’ author. No more work in between. My mother found that to be a really silly decision...”

“But you’re a wonderful author.” I couldn’t help but interrupt.

“Thank you, Christie.” Helena smiled. “I had lived a really busy life with long hours at the job, and lots of travelling, so staying home and write was something completely else. I started listening more properly to my body. I started to realize how tired I really was. I ignored it for a long time. A really long time. I figured that I had probably just been stressed, so I didn’t do anything about it. I ignored that   
I felt weak and I ignored the shortness of breath I often felt. The chest pains that I assumed was stress related. I used all sorts of excuses. Lack of sleep. Too much coffee. Too little food. Too much red wine. You name it. I pretended that it wasn’t there because I had quit my job. I had nothing to be stressed about, so I told myself I was fine. Until I wasn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

Helena squeezed my hand. “It means that one day I had a row with my mother. She couldn’t understand why I had quit my well-paid job to ‘write books’. She really ticked me off that particular day, so I ended up yelling. And then I fainted. My parents had to call an ambulance. I remember waking up and complaining over chest pains. I was rushed to the hospital. There I was examined from top to toe. CT scans, MRI scans. Electrocardiogram. Stress-test. I think I was examined in every possible way that day. And after another few tests and some blood work, the doctor found out what was wrong with me. I was...” another breath. “I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy. Heart disease that means the heart muscle had thickened. I was completely unaware that I had it. My life was changed like that...” she used her free hand to snap her fingers. “Suddenly I had to stop drinking alcohol, monitor my salt intake and take a lot of medicine to lower my blood pressure, help my heart pump and reduce excess fluid. It was... It was a lot.”

Yes, this truly was a lot. I felt slightly overwhelmed by it all. Dizzy. “Helena, are you... are you sick?” my voice was small, and I was silently panicking. 

“I was,” Helena said softly. “Quite... severely, actually. I took my medicine and I kept getting weaker and weaker. I was still determined to live my life, so I sort of pretended that it didn’t exist and powered through. I wrote two more books in two years. I’m not sure how I managed to do it. I was so weak. The fatigue was getting worse and worse, and so was the chest pains. One night it got so bad that I had to call an ambulance. I was taken into hospital again, and this time, things couldn’t be fixed with medicine. I had to get surgery....” her voice trailed off, and I could tell from the look on her face that this was hard to talk about. I could vividly imagine how scared she must have been. I didn’t want her to be upset. I gently squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you tell me the rest tomorrow night?” I suggested. “I’m not trying to interrupt you, and I do want to hear the rest, but I can see that you’re getting a bit...”

Helena understood even though I didn’t finish the sentence. “You’re right. I am getting a bit emotional. It was a tough time for me. A bit hard to talk about this early in the morning.”

“Then let’s not. Let’s just drink our tea, and then you can tell me what book you’d like to read next,” I suggested. 

“Oh, that’s gonna be tough,” Helena half-chuckled. “I’m not sure anything can measure up to The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, to be honest. I think that might be my new favorite book.”

“What was your favorite book before then?”

She grimaced. “It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not,” I insisted. “Please tell me?”

“Very well. When I was a child, my grandmother would always read The Velveteen Rabbit to me. She had this really old copy of it. Full of beautiful illustrations. She gave it to me when I turned seven and could read on my own. I read it every night, and as an adult, I realized how important the story truly is. It’s not just a children’s book.”

“How can that possibly be embarrassing? Do you still have the book?”

“God no,” Helena said remorsefully. “It completely fell apart because I had read it so much. I haven’t been able to find the same copy, and to be perfectly honest, I’m still upset about that.”

I smiled. Not because she was upset. But because she was talking about this book in such a gentle manner. Helena Frost loved books as much as I did, and that fact alone made me feel even stronger for her....


	36. Helena 21st of December 07:30 PM

21st of December, Shieldaig 07:30 PM

Helena

“For goodness sake, Helena!” grandma scoffed. “You are going to be late if you don’t stop fussing!”

I chortled at how genuinely dissatisfied with me she looked. Then I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time. I was wearing a knee-length black dress with a boat neckline and long sleeves. It looked sophisticated and classy without getting boring. I had curled my hair for the occasion and even put on a bit of lipstick. I felt very pretty without being too overly fancy.

“You are not nervous, are you?” my grandmother asked. She was already very invested in my budding relationship with Christie. Perhaps even a little too much. She had even clapped her hands when I told her about the kiss. 

“No,” I replied. I was not nervous about going out with Christie. “But it is strange, though.”

“What is strange, dear?” 

“Christie,” I said. Grandma raised an eyebrow and I quickly clarified: “I mean, she is not strange, but... I have the oddest feeling that I somehow know her. “I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, I can’t pinpoint it. It’s just... a feeling.”

“But that is not possible, Nena, dear,” grandma said softly. “She hasn’t been here during the time you have.”

“I know that,” I said quickly. “As I said, it’s just an odd feeling. Perhaps it’s because she’s so special and I.... Well, I’m very fond of her already.”

“Of course you are,” grandma said in an ‘well, that’s obvious’-tone. “And if you don’t hurry, you’ll end up being late. You don’t want her to get cold while waiting for you, do you?”

Message received and understood. “Alright, alright,” I chortled as I put on my coat. “I’m going. See you later, grandma.”

“Have a lovely time with Christie, dear,” grandma said as I left the house....

Ten minutes later, I was nearing the pub where Christie and I had agreed to meet. Christie was already there. She was standing out front, wearing that big purple coat with the brown polka dots and a bubble hat again. She wasn’t alone. Tiny was by her side. The two of them were clearly having a conversation. Tiny was looking up at Christie and looked like he was concentrating. That sight made me smile.

Christie looked up when I approached. Her concentrated look turned into a smile that melted my heart completely. She looked so beautiful as she stood there in her big coat and bubble hat and copper red hair cascading down her back. She hadn’t put it in a braid today, and I was curious to see what it looked like when she took off her hat.

“Hi,” she said lightly as soon as I was within earshot. She outstretched her hands towards me.

“Hello,” I greeted and took her hands in mine. “Have you waited for a long time?”

“Twenty minutes, but that’s my own fault. I always show up too early. And it gets worse when I’m nervous.”

“Oh,” I frowned. “Are you very nervous about doing this?”

“Aye. But not nervous in a bad way,” Christie said. “There are several ways to be nervous.”

“That’s true. There is.” That did make me feel a bit more calm. I didn’t want Christie to be nervous in a bad way. “Are you ready head inside?”

She nodded. “Is it alright if Tiny joins us? I like having him with me in crowded places. It calms me down.”

“Tiny is welcome to come along to all our dates,” I chuckled. 

Tiny wagged his tail and trotted after us as we made it over to the door. 

“All of them?” Christie asked as I pushed the door open for her. 

“Pardon?”

“You said ‘all our dates’,” she clarified as she slipped through the door with Tiny right behind her. 

“I did. I was certainly hoping that there will be more than this date,” I told her upon closing the door again, so the cold didn’t get a chance to come inside. 

Christie smiled and flashed those adorable dimples in her cheeks. “I’m hoping that too,” she said softly. 

“Good.” I was relieved. Although we were on the same page, I didn’t want to overwhelm her by being too eager. I was the first person she was dating after having lost her wife. In every way, this was a special situation. For both of us. 

Christie took off her coat and I was momentarily distracted. She was wearing a green, long sleeved dress with a white Peter Pan-collar. The style and color really suited her. She had taken off her bubble hat, and I could not stop looking at her long red hair that spilled down her shoulders and ended in soft curls at her lower back. God, she had lovely hair. I never would have thought about wearing that kind of dress, but Christie looked amazing in it. I looked at her freckled face and noted that she was wearing a hint of mascara on her lashes today. I had never seen her wearing makeup before. It suited her. Made her unusual eyes seem even more alive and vibrant. 

I took off my own coat and as I hung it next to Christie’s on the rack, I suddenly felt a little underdressed. A bit colorless compared to Christie. 

But maybe that wasn’t the case. “That’s a really nice dress,” Christie said softly. “Black is such a sophisticated color. I can’t really wear that color because of my hair and because I’m so pale. But it really suits you. It brings out your hair color.”

“Thank you,” I smiled. “Shall we head inside?”

“Yes, lets. Come on, Tiny.”

Together, all three of us went inside the pub. The old, toothless owner smiled at us and jokingly asked: “table for three?” 

Christie cracked a smile. “I don’t think Tiny would like sitting on a chair. We’ll settle for a table for two, won’t we, Helena?”

“A table for two is quite sufficient,” I confirmed and chuckled. Christie had a nice sense of humor. 

We were pointed to a table in the corner near the fireplace. There was a chair and a padded bench you could sit on. Christie took the bench and I took the chair. Tiny made himself... well, tiny and disappeared under the table just as the pub-owner showed up with two menus. 

I flipped through mine, debating what I wanted to eat, but I quickly noticed that Christie hadn’t touched her menu at all. I looked at her. “Do you already know what you’re having?”

“Chicken sandwich and a glass of apple juice,” Christie said immediately. “I always order the same. It’s easier for me that way.”

“I see,” I nodded. “Is the chicken sandwich good?”

“Aye, it’s very good.”

“You know what?” I said lightly as I closed the menu again. “Then I want that too.”

“You don’t have to choose that just because I am,” she said hastily. “You can just take your time to pick what you want.”

“I trust your taste,” I said lightly and stretched my hand out across the table. 

Christie immediately understood what I was silently communicating, and she put her smaller hand in mine. 

“I’ve missed you,” I openly admitted as I gently closed my fingers around her hand. 

She smiled and the dimples were back. “I’ve missed you too.”

I looked at her. Acknowledged that I cared way too much for this girl. This girl with the unusual eyes and the old soul. You could almost hear a million clocks ticking when you looked into her eyes. 

When the pub-owner came back, we ordered a chicken sandwich and a glass of apple juice each. And as soon as he had disappeared again, I gave Christie’s hand a soft squeeze. 

She returned the squeeze and asked: “what have you been doing today?” I hadn’t been to the book café today. Instead I had kept grandma some company until it was time for me to go. 

“I’ve mostly been with grandma,” I told her. “We’ve been doing some reading. Watched some television. And we’ve agreed to head into town tomorrow to do the last bit of Christmas shopping. Grandma can’t really drive because of her leg. What have you been doing?”

“I have been in the book café. I have been trying to figure out how I can turn things around,” Christie replied. “Money-wise, I mean. I was thinking that maybe Vanessa is right. Maybe a book-sale could be a good idea.”

“Yes, that doesn’t sound too bad,” I agreed.

“I just hate getting rid of books, but I can see why it’s necessary. We do have too many. And we could use the money.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing another read-up if you’d like,” I offered. “It went well the last time.”

“Aye, it did. So many people showed up. Maybe we could try it again.”

“And maybe it could be a regular thing,” I suggested. “A read-up from a specific book every week. I’m sure lots of people would be interested in that. The people coming to hear it, could pay a small fee a ticket, and for snacks and beverage.”

“That sounds nice too,” Christie said, and her eyes shone. “Perhaps that could bring in a bit of extra money.” Her mouth twisted a little. “I just wish that it wasn’t about the money all the time.”

“We have to save the book café,” I said firmly. 

Christie raised an eyebrow. “’We’?” 

“Yes. We,” I smiled and squeezed her hand again. “Of course I want to help in any way I possibly can.”

“That’s nice of you, but you’re going back to London. Aren’t you?” 

“Not anytime soon,” I said firmly. That decision had already been made long ago. “What else did you do today?” 

“Tiny and I spent some time in the garden. We talked to Naya for a little while,” Christie said softly. “Isn’t that right, Tiny?”

Tiny did not react under the table, but I felt a bit touched by it. “Do you always go into the garden when you need to feel close to her?” 

“Aye.” Christie frowned. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about her right now. Maybe that’s rude when we’re on a date.”

“It is not,” I said firmly. “It is not rude at all, and I would never ask you to stop talking about your wife, Christie. She was so important to you.”

“She was,” Christie agreed. 

“Do you have a special place in your garden where you go to be close to her?” I asked softly. 

“Underneath the oak tree,” Christie said immediately. “I have a little headstone there. And... and her ash is buried there. I know it seems strange because it’s my garden, but that’s how she wanted it. I didn’t want to do anything she didn’t agree to.” 

“It’s not strange at all,” I said gently. “I think it’s beautiful.” it truly was. Christie and Naya had been close in life, and even when she died, Naya hadn’t wanted to leave her wife. 

“It was one of the things her parents and I fell out about,” Christie murmured. “They wanted to bury her in London to be closer to her, which I perfectly understand, but it wasn’t about their wishes. Or mine. It was about Naya’s. To her, her whole life was in Shieldaig. She didn’t feel any connection to London. And I refused to do anything she didn’t want. Her parents weren’t very pleased with me when I told them that.”

“Well, I think you made the right choice, Christie. You followed your wife’s wishes. Naya’s parents could come here.”

Christie shrugged. “I believe they made a headstone for her in London as well. But I’ve never visited it. Naya’s parents wouldn’t want me to-“ she shook her head. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

“Alright. What would you like to talk about?” I asked. 

“You,” Christie said immediately. 

I chortled. “I’m afraid I’m not that interesting.”

“That’s a lie. You are one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, Helena.”

I almost spluttered at that. How could she possibly say that when she was the one who was one of the most interesting people? Before I could protest, the pub-owner came over with our sandwiches and apple juice. We thanked him. And then we toasted. Christie’s eyes shone in the dimmed light in the pub, and I stupidly noticed that she had a particular way of drinking. She took small, almost bird-like sips of the apple juice. It was positively adorable. If she was eating in the same fashion, I would be completely done for. 

A squeaky yawn coming from underneath the table interrupted my thoughts. Tiny was being very extra right now. 

“No, Tiny,” Christie scolded. “You are not supposed to beg, and you know it!”

He squeaky yawned again, and I heard him make a sort of defiant puffing sound under the table. Christie ignored him, and I thought to myself that Tiny had as much personality as any human had....

The sandwiches were eaten. I had drunken my apple juice. Christie and I had chit-chatted through it all. I had told her about my (old) life in London. Told her about my apartment on the 10th floor in the middle of the city. Christie had looked impressed but relieved when I added that I wasn’t sure the city life was for me anymore. I had lived in the city in London too, but I was growing tired of it. Cars honking and people pushing in the elevators. Running to catch a train or a bus. The tall buildings. The smog in the air. All of it seemed terrible here in quiet, beautiful Shieldaig. 

“I didn’t finish telling you that story,” I remembered as I stretched my foot so I could brush it against Tiny’s back. He made another little puffing sound in his sleep. 

“No, you did not,” Christie replied. “And you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do. But I appreciate that you interrupted me yesterday. It was a very hard time for me.”

“Aye, you said you had to get surgery?” Christie asked gently, leaning forward and putting her hand over mine. 

“Yes, that’s right.” I found so much comfort in her small hand on top of mine. It soothed me. And gave me the courage to tell her the rest of the darkest chapters in my life. It made me remember that the way my heart was beating in my chest was not dangerous. I was okay. “First there was septal myectomy. Open-heart surgery. Typically the first option for younger patients and or patients whose medicine doesn’t work. I easily fitted into both of those categories. They removed-“ I paused and checked her face. “Are you alright with hearing about an operation? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

“I can handle it. But it’s very considerate of you to ask,” Christie said softly, patting my hand lightly. “Go on.”

“The doctor removed a part of the thickened septum to improve the blood flow through the heart and out to the body,” I continued. “In almost all of the cases, this type of surgery is very successful, and the patient can go back to living their life. But... I could not. I was still having trouble breathing. I wasn’t getting any better. I was only getting worse, and it didn’t take long before I was back in the hospital. Hooked up to all kind of machines to monitor my heartbeat. There was talk of operating a pacemaker into my chest and connect it to my heart with wires. It would send electrical shocks to my heart to restore a normal heartbeat. But it fell through. After weeks of preparation, my doctor scanned my heart and went over the results of the tests and terminated that a pacemaker wouldn’t help in the long run. My heart was in very bad shape because the condition had gone untreated for many years. It was... it was damaged beyond repair. No amount of pacemakers would ever be enough to...” 

There was a lump in my throat, and it was getting difficult to continue. Christie withdrew her hand and gently pushed her half-full glass of apple juice towards me. “Here. Have a sip.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully and lifted the glass. I gingerly gobbled down a few sips and it immediately became a bit easier to swallow. 

Christie waited until I had put the glass down. Then she looked at me. It was like she was staring right into my soul. “Helena, are you sick?” she asked again. Exactly like she had yesterday. 

“No,” I said. I would always have a few more doctor’s appointment than anyone else, but here two years after, the odds were very good for me. There was a very good chance that I would be able to live a completely normal life. “My doctor was very honest and told me that no minor surgeries would be enough to repair the damage. My heart was just in too bad shape to react positively to any kind of minor surgery or medicine. There was only one kind of surgery that would do the trick. Heart transplantation.”

“Oh god,” Christie said quietly. 

“Yes, that was tough to hear,” I nodded and squeezed her little hand. Incredibly. Normally, I could barely talk about it, but Christie made it easier. “My parents were devastated. They thought I was going to die. And I... Well, so did I. I guess you could say that I gave up hope. But my doctor did not. I was immediately put on a waiting list. The doctors were too afraid to let me go home. I had to stay in the hospital. I was a level ‘1-3’. A serious case. I was put on bed rest. It was... It was tough. It was very tough. My strength was failing me. I tried to push through and write to distract myself, but I could barely do that. Being in the hospital made me go crazy. I was constantly afraid of dying while I slept. I was afraid of getting a heart attack. And the waiting was...” I shook my head, squeezed Christie’s hand again. My eyes had gotten misty from talking about this. “I was waiting for someone to die so I could live. It was terrible. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want anybody else to die either. It was hard to accept what this operation truly meant. That my life had been traded for somebody else’s. It was brutal. My life-saving surgery would mean that someone else had died.” 

I took another breath and used my free hand to quickly brush over my eyes. I didn’t want to start crying and make Christie upset. I had to look down at our joined hands as I continued: “I was in the hospital for seven months. All through summer. Then finally, what I had been both waiting for and feared, happen. The doctors had a suitable match for me. I had a heart transplantation in November. Christmas that year was strange to say the least. I was trying to regain my strength and live with having a heart in my chest that wasn’t mine...” I stopped talking when I realized that I was trailing off. 

There was no reason to talk about those psychological ‘things’ I was feeling. I cleared my throat. “Well, now you know everything. I was very ill for several years, but my prognosis is very good. There hasn’t been a single sign that my body is rejecting the heart, so...” 

I trailed off when I realized that Christie hadn’t said anything in a long time. I looked up at her and was surprised to see how pale she was. Her eyes seemed too big for her face. 

“Christie?” I asked softly. “Are you alright?” 

She just stared at me, and I grew concerned. Perhaps this story was too much after all. It was a lot to wrap your head around. Perhaps she feared that I could experience a setback. I more than understood why she would be afraid of illness. “Christie?” I said her name gently once more. She looked at me. Just looked at me. For a long, long time. I was starting to feel unsure of what I should do. 

“Do you know what else caused a conflict between Naya’s parents and I?” Christie asked quietly. 

“I- no, I don’t,” I said, slightly confused about why she was talking about that now. Maybe that was her way of showing that she was getting overwhelmed and needed to change the subject. 

“What should happen with her body after she was gone,” Christie said so quietly I could barely hear her. “She wanted to be cremated and she wanted her ash buried under the big oak tree in our garden. But she also wanted to do something good. She wanted to help even after she was dead. Her last act was one of kindness. A selfless one.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about Christie,” I said. Oh god, I’ve overwhelmed her! I’ve talked too much about illness! I’ve ruined this!

“I am talking.... about organ donation, Helena,” Christie croaked. “That was Naya’s last wish. She had made that decision a long, long time ago. That her organs would be used to save the life of someone else.”

“I...” the words died on my tongue, and I suddenly had this ringing sensation in my ears. 

“On what date did you have your heart transplantation, Helena?” Christie asked and looked directly at me. 

“On... On November 20th,” I breathed. My heart was hammering mockingly in my chest. 

Christie cupped a hand over her mouth, and I saw tears well up in her green/brown eyes. “November 20th, 2018. That’s the day Naya died...”


	37. Christie 21st of December 08:34 PM

21stof December, Shieldaig 08:34 PM

Christie

Helena had gone completely pale. Her lips were parted in surprise as she looked at me. “It... It cannot be,” she whispered. “It’s... impossible.”

“Is it?” I murmured. My hand balled into a fist as I fought the urge to pinch my skin. “Naya died on the 20th of November. You had your heart transplantation on the same day. Technically, it can be, Helena.”

“But I...” she ran out of words and stared wide-eyed at me. 

I had never been very good at matching facial expressions, but for once, I was completely sure that my expression was matching Helena’s. And what’s more, I was also completely certain that I was right. I couldn’t explain it, but I had the strongest feeling that my suspicion was correct. Naya’s heart was beating inside Helena’s chest. The most important part of my wife had found its way back to me. Naya’s good, kind, loving heart. I had always said that I would be willing to do anything to get even the smallest piece of Naya back. But like this?

“It’s strange,” Helena said hoarsely, and I could see tears glimmer in her beautiful, blue eyes. “All this time I’ve had the feeling that I know you. That we’ve somehow met before...”

I shook my head, and Helena’s voice dwindled. This was something I could not wrap my head around. That Helena was feeling a certain way about me because Naya’s heart was beating in her chest. It did not make any sense. It shouldn’t make any sense. Getting a heart transplantation was a clinical affair through and through. It shouldn’t change anything. The heart was not Naya’s anymore. It was Helena’s. She had made it her own. Naya’s heart had become a still, quiet organ the moment she died. The heart of a diseased person. No emotions. No nothing. There couldn’t possibly be any residual feelings left in it. It was scientifically impossible. But if it wasn’t, was Naya’s heart the reason that Helena gravitated towards me? Would she even have looked my way if it hadn’t been for Naya’s heart? 

Thinking like that made me sad, and I could feel that old prickling sensation in my skin. The feeling of my throat closing up. 

“Christie?” Helena asked gently. “Please talk to me. What’s going on in your head?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. Even though I did.

“You don’t know for sure,” Helena said and reached out. She was trying to take my hand, but I wouldn’t let her. Because now I was unsure why she did it. Because she wanted to, or because something stronger than her told her to?

“You don’t know for sure if Naya’s heart is in me,” she said gently. 

“Do you not believe it?” I asked simply and looked her in the eyes. 

Helena did not answer. But I could see that she did. Believed me. I didn’t need any confirmation from anyone to know that it was true. Naya had died on November 20th. Helena had received a heart on the very same day. That was no coincidence. 

“If it’s true...” she murmured and shook her head a little. “Then it explains why I’ve been feeling so...... drawn to you.”

“Don’t say that,” I said.

“Why not?” her voice was still soft and gentle. “It is the truth, Christie. I have been feeling inexplainable drawn to you.”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t!” I said louder than intended. 

“Christie-“

“No, Helena! It- it shouldn’t mean anything,” I said almost desperately. “Naya’s dead! There is nothing left of her! Her feelings.... aren’t here anymore.”

“But her heart is,” Helena murmured. 

It felt like my own heart was breaking. What Helena was saying confirmed my worst fear. “What if it hadn’t been?” I asked her. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. She was confused again. 

“What if it had been your own heart and not hers?” I said. My voice was shaking more and more. “Would you still have felt like this? Would you still have felt drawn to me?”

“Christie...” she reached for my hand again. 

“Would you?” I pressed. 

“I...” Helena licked her lips, and for once her eyes was the ones to flicker instead of mine. “I do not know, Christie. I don’t have my old heart any longer. But I do know that I’ve been gravitating towards you since the day I met you. I could not explain why. Until now.”

I blinked. “That’s just it, Helena. I don’t want you to feel drawn towards me because of her heart or what you think it might make you feel. I want you to feel drawn to me because you are.”

“I am!” she said desperately. “Christie, that’s not what I meant!”

But I couldn’t take any more of this. “I... I can’t do this,” I whispered. 

“What do you mean?” Helena asked confused. “What can’t you do?”

“This,” I said shortly and rose from my chair. “I have to get out of here!”

“No, Christie, wait!” Helena begged and was clearly reaching for my hand. “Please don’t leave!”

But I had to. Everything was piling up in my head, and I suddenly could not stand being here in this warm pub where everyone was talking too loudly. And I couldn’t stand being near Helena. Not if Naya’s heart truly was beating inside her chest. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Then I turned around and ran out of the pub as fast as my legs could carry me. Tiny was right behind me. 

I did not stop until I had reached the corner of the street. My chest was rising and falling too quickly, and I wouldn’t have been able to focus if it hadn’t been for Tiny and his insistent way of nudging my hand with his snout. 

I knew that I was right. Although I had no evidence, I knew that I was right. Helena had Naya’s heart in her chest. And as much as I tried to convince myself that scientifically, that shouldn’t mean anything,   
I could not stop thinking about what Helena had said right before we kissed each other that night. ‘Are you certain that we have not met?’. We hadn’t. I knew that for sure. But then how could Helena feel the opposite? How could she feel like we somehow knew each other when we did not? Did a part of her.... recognize me? It shouldn’t be possible. But if it was... It changed everything. I had to re-evaluate every last thing I thought I knew about Helena Frost. Including the reason why we were together. Were we seeing each other because she wanted to? Or was Helena was gravitating towards me because of something else? What if Helena didn’t have a say in any of this? What if she’s somehow being forced to... My chest heaved. And when she found out that it was true, that Naya’s heart really was inside her chest... What would happen then? Would she feel like she had to be with me because of it? Would she think that she was somehow obliged to be with me because my wife’s heart was a part of her? 

No. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any of that. I wanted Helena to be with me because she wanted to. Not for any other reason. And if Naya’s heart somehow influenced her decisions... Then I had to set her free. It was that simple. I had never wanted to be anyone obligation. And least of all Helena’s. 

“Come on, Tiny,” I murmured and swallowed thickly. “Let’s go home.”

“Tiny cocked his head and looked back in the direction we had come from.

“No, mate,” I whispered. “No more Helena. Come on. I’m tired.” I turned around and started walking. I could hear that Tiny was following me. He always did no matter what. I just wanted to get away from the pub. I couldn’t talk to Helena right now. It was too much. I needed time to wrap my head around everything. I needed space to breathe. And Helena made it difficult for me to breathe. Or think. 

Tiny nudged my hand again, and I patted his head absentmindedly. He knew. 

When I came home, I went directly upstairs and hauled my big duffel bag out from underneath the bed. Tiny looked curiously at me as I opened my dresser and began to pull different articles of clothing out and shove them into inside the big duffel bag. “That’s right,” I told him. “We’re going on a little mini-vacation, you and I.”

Tiny’s tail started wagging slightly. 

“We’re going to Edinburgh,” I continued. “We’re gonna see Julie!”

At that Tiny barked and his tail started swinging back and forward in earnest. He adored Julie. I hoped she wouldn’t mind that I showed up like this. I had done that a few times over the years, and she had always greeted me the same way. My door is always open, Chrissy-Chris. You know that’. I hoped that still was the case. I really needed to talk to my friend. I needed to unload and tell her everything. Tell her about my suspicion. Julie would listen. Julie would talk me down. She would make me see sense again. She always did. Going to see my friend was the only thing that could bring me out of my panicked state. That was why I was leaving like this. That was why I HAD to leave. I shoved a few more sweaters inside the duffel bag. I had probably packed too much, but I wasn’t completely sure how long I would be gone for. It was better to have packed too much than too little. When I was almost done packing, I realized that I had forgotten my coat and hat at the pub. That wasn’t so good, but I chose to believe that Tom the pub-owner would be kind enough to keep the clothing until I came back next time. He had done that once before. Sometimes I left my things all over because I forgot them. That especially happened if I was stressed, and I was most certainly stressed right now. Because Naya’s heart was beating inside Helena’s chest. The only two women I had ever cared for was connected in the most unlikely of ways, and I didn’t know what that connection meant. Helena had talked about staying in Shieldaig for a longer period of time, but did she truly want that? Or was that the residue of Naya’s feelings for me talking? How could I ever be certain of what Helena felt? 

I found a different winter coat in my dresser and shrugged it on. I could immediately feel that I didn’t like this kind of fabric, but there was nothing I could do about that. My other winter coat was at the pub. And I was not going back there. 

Instead I went downstairs with Tiny trotting behind me. I found his leash and shoved it inside the pocket of my coat. Then we left the cottage once again. Went into the back yard. Naya’s heart shaped headstone greeted me like it had done so many times before. The little candle I had lit for her last night had blown out long ago. But all the words on the head stone had not been covered in snow yet. 

‘Beloved wife, Naya Louise Starling, September 15th 1995- November 20th 2018. If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.’

I turned my back on the head stone and left the garden with Tiny...... 

I was nervous when I came out on the street. I feared that Helena would suddenly come running after me, and I couldn’t possibly deal with that right now. I had to get away from Shieldaig. I had to get away to get some perspective on this. 

I hadn’t walked long before I found what I was looking for. Or rather who. Ramona Suarez. She was emerging from her cottage and was walking towards her truck. She was sticking to her plan about going to Edinburgh. She had a meeting there tomorrow, and she had talked a lot about wanting to drive down there one day earlier. And she had mentioned how dull it was to drive alone. She had even asked me if I wanted to go with her. At the time I had declined. I had no business in Edinburgh. Until now. 

“Hello, Ramona,” I greeted as I approached her. 

“Oh, hello, Christie,” she smiled. “Have you changed your mind?”

“I have, actually,” I nodded. “If there’s still room for one more. And Tiny.”

“There’s plenty of room for both of you. Hop in!”

“Thank you.” We helped each other getting my duffel bag onto the backseat, and Tiny was banished to the trunk. Not that he was unhappy about that. He had always loved driving. 

“Are you going Christmas shopping in Edinburgh?” Ramona asked in that chit-chat fashion that never failed to make me nervous. 

“No, I’m going to visit a friend,” I said truthfully. 

“Oh, that sounds nice. Do you mind a bit of music while we drive?” she asked briskly as she buckled her seatbelt. 

I did the same. “No, that’s fine.” it wasn’t, but saying something else would be rude. I would just have to endure it. And who knew, maybe Ramona would decide to listen to some classical music at some point. 

“We better get going then,” Ramona said briskly and turned the key in the ignition once. The car came alive with a roar, and I leaned back in the leather seat. I didn’t feel good. Overwhelmed by everything, but also guilty because I was running away. I wasn’t completely sure what Helena was planning on doing with this information. Perhaps she would call her doctor and have it confirmed. Or perhaps she preferred not knowing at all. Maybe that would be better. Because the idea that she might feel drawn to me because of Naya’s heart and not because of herself was gut wrenching. And the idea that Helena would feel obliged to stay because of Naya’s heart beating in her chest was even worse. 

Julie, I thought, desperately clawing onto the one thing that could ground me right now. Julie will know what to do. Julie will say the right thing. She always did. I would have to remain calm until I saw my friend. And I would just have to ignore the way my chest ached as the distance between Helena and I became bigger and bigger...


	38. Helena 22nd of December

22nd of December, Shieldaig 08:45 AM

Helena

Christie’s coat and bubble hat was staring at me from the coat hanger as I came back inside, and once again I cursed myself for having been too slow yesterday. I had been in shock. Reeling over the possibility of having Naya’s heart inside my chest. I had tried to wrap my head around it all. Had tried to process everything Christie had said. And that had been hard, because the biggest part of my mind had been going no, it cannot be, it’s impossible! But another smaller yet loud part of my mind had been going perhaps it is true. Perhaps this is the reason why everything makes more sense when I am with her. Perhaps I’ve finally figured out why I am changed. And I have found the one thing that can give me peace. Her. Those were complicated thoughts, and, in the moment, I had been unable to say them out loud. And then Christie had asked me if I would feel this way if Naya’s heart hadn’t been inside my chest. Of course I hadn’t been able to answer that because I did not know. But I should have given Christie a different answer. I shouldn’t just have said ‘I don’t know’. That was the completely wrong thing to say. And now Christie was gone. As soon as I had recovered from the shock last night, I had gone out and tried to look for her, but I had been unable to find her. The book café had been dark and the same had her cottage. I hadn’t been able to call her either. Christie had no phone. I had been walking around in Shieldaig until almost nine o’clock. Then I had given up and gone back to my grandmother’s cottage to get warmed up. I had told grandma the whole story. How the date of Naya’s death had matched the day of my heart transplant. How Naya had been an organ donor. Grandma had looked shocked and surprised and everything in between, and I had kind of been relieved to see that.   
That she was at the same place as I was. She had made tea and we had talked. I had told her that Christie was gone, and I had asked if there was any possibility that she knew where Christie had disappeared of to. Grandma had only been able to come up with one place. Edinburgh. Where her friend Julie lived. And this morning where I had been out looking for her yet again, Vanessa had confirmed it. She had been at the book café. Wiping off the tables, and she had looked quite startled when I came barging in asking for Christie. That was when she had told me that Christie had called her from Ramona’s phone and told her that she was staying with Julie in Edinburgh for a little while. How long she was going to be there, she had not said. Even though I had expected that answer, my heart still sank. 

And now I was staring numbly at Christie’s coat and bubble hat. I had the strongest urge to reach out and touch it. Maybe bring the hat up to my nose and inhale her scent. Perhaps it was all in my head, but I swear, I felt weird now that she was not here. I felt uncomfortable. Bad. The kind of ache nothing can soothe. 

“Helena? Is that you, dear?” grandma called from the living room. 

“Yes, it’s me,” I sighed as I slipped off my boots and coat and ran a finger through my snow covered hair. Christie’s coat and sweet little bubble hat was staring at me again. It took all my willpower to turn my back on it and walk into the living room. 

Grandma was sitting in her old rocking chair with her injured knee propped up on a pouffe. She had been sitting and knitting, but now she was putting down her knitting work and looked at me instead. 

“You did not find her, did you?” she asked softly.

“No,” I sighed. “I talked to Vanessa. She told me that Christie left for Edinburgh yesterday. She got a ride from Ramona. Vanessa didn’t know when Christie comes back. She didn’t say.”

“Oh, Nena,” grandma said sympathetically. “I am sorry, dear.” 

I felt like I had aged twenty years or so as I sat down on the sofa. Surprisingly enough, Pepper, grandma’s big, grey cat jumped up and curled up in my lap. Perhaps he could sense that I was feeling sad. I absentmindedly stroked his soft coat. He purred, and under different circumstances that would have made me smile. But not today. “What am I going to do, grandma?” I said and thereby asked the wisest woman I knew for advice. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to hop into my car and drive straight to Edinburgh and find Christie. And tell her...

“She will come back,” grandma said and picked up her knitting work again. 

“How can you be so sure?” I asked a bit exasperated. 

“Because she’s Christie,” grandma said simply. “And I know Christie. She doesn’t run away for a longer period of time. I can imagine that she needs some space right now, but when she’s ready, she’ll come back again.”

“Yes, but what if she won’t come back to me?” I asked and my voice caught a bit. “What if she’ll think that this is too-“

“You have to be certain, dear,” grandma interrupted softly, and her knitting needles started working between her fingers again. 

“Certain of what?” 

“That your heart was in fact donated by Naya,” she said simply.   
“I know.” My voice was small, and my thoughts jumbled. I should call my doctor and ask. Although it would be impossible for her to tell me Naya’s name, I could ask about her gender and age. And that was all I needed. Because deep down I already knew whom this heart belonged to. “Grandma?” I asked quietly. “Do you think it’s possible for someone to change after a heart transplantation?”

The knitting needles stopped moving up and down, and grandma looked at me with her kind, grey eyes. The wrinkles around them became even more pronounced as she smiled softly. “Oh, Nena, dear. I know that I am a former nurse, but there are things that I cannot answer. At least not from a professional perspective. I believe that some donor recipients can experience personality change after a heart transplantation, but usually, it stems from the trauma and life-threatening situation they’ve been in-”

“So, you think I’m crazy?” I said dully.

“You did not let me finish, dear,” she said, only slightly scolding as she brushed a hand over her plaid skirt. “In my opinion- not my professional opinion, but personal opinion- you have changed after the operation, dear. Of course you were weak before because you were ill, but you still tried your best. You kept pushing through. But after the operation it was like you just... gave up in a sense. You became so withdrawn and quiet. Nothing seemed to bring you real joy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so unhappy as you have been in these past two years. And in my opinion-“ grandma paused and her bushy grey eyebrows knitted together as she looked at me. 

“Yes?” I quietly encouraged. “Just say it, grandma.”

“It was almost like you were searching for something you didn’t know what was,” she gently continued. “I could see it in your eyes when I visited you. You were there, but at the same time... You were not. You were looking for something.”

“For someone,” I finished the sentence. “And then I met Christie.”

“Yes, dear. And then you met Christie,” grandma nodded. 

“And I stopped searching,” I acknowledged. “I have been feeling better since coming here.” 

“You have, dear.”

“But do you really think that it’s because of Naya’s heart?” I continued. “Is it truly possible that I’m feeling like this because of that? Do you believe that I have feelings for Christie because of Naya’s heart? That’s what Christie thinks. She said so. And that... hurt me.” I swallowed thickly. I understood why Christie suddenly had doubted everything, but it still hurt me. 

Grandma had picked up her knitting work again. The needles were swiftly moving up and down as she knitted in a brisk pace. “I believe that you have feelings for Christie... Because you have feelings for Christie. If there is a deeper reason behind it, I don’t think it’s our job to question or doubt it. The thing that matters is that you and Christie found one another.” 

“And what if Christie doesn’t feel the same?” I asked. That was the one thing I feared. That this would change everything between us. That it would squash the beautiful thing that had been blossoming between us. I did not want that to happen!

“Give her time, dear,” grandma said softly. “Right now she’s doing what she needs to do in order to cope. When she lost Naya, I thought she would never recover from it, but I’ve seen her blossom since you arrived. She’s been smiling a lot more. And she’s been much more open with you than she is with other people. She has told you things she would never dream of telling others.” 

“Her autism?” I guessed. 

“Just so. Christie didn’t do well when living with her parents in Edinburgh. They didn’t see her. They didn’t know how to interact with her. I believe that instilled some kind of embarrassment about her autism in her. She told Naya about her diagnosis because she trusted her completely. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why she told you.”

I swallowed thickly. No, grandma did not need to tell me that. Christie trusted me. And I had just said ‘I don’t know’ when she asked me if I would have felt drawn to her if it hadn’t been for Naya’s heart beating in my chest. Somehow, I had confirmed her worst fears. 

Grandma reached out and patted my hand softly. “She will come back, Helena. Trust me. She will.”

But when? I wasn’t sure I could handle this. Her presence nearby had become the usual. Something that was as natural as breathing. And now that she wasn’t here, I felt completely homeless. My heart felt homeless. I don’t think I had properly considered what would happen if I went back to London. It was obvious that I could not go anywhere. I belonged here. It was simple as that. 

“Call your doctor, dear,” grandma said. “You need to be certain. You need confirmation. For your peace of mind.”

She was right. My grandmother was a wise woman. A very wise woman. I stroked Pepper’s soft coat once more. I guess you could say that I was trying to buy myself some time. I was fearing that hearing the confirmation would send me tumbling over the edge I had been clawing onto since last night where Christie stormed out of the pub. 

“Helena,” my grandmother said and patted my knee. “The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”

Once again, she was right. I nodded. Gentle moved Pepper from my lap and rose from the sofa. “I’m calling my doctor,” I announced. “Right now.” with the decision made, I excused myself and went upstairs and into the little guest room that had been my home for quite a while now. My phone was laying on the bedside table, and it felt like the device was almost staring at me. 

Refusing to be a coward, I picked up the phone and dialed a number I hadn’t been dialing for a year. The number to St. Thomas hospital’s cardiovascular unit. Of course I had to wait for a while as soft ‘please hold’-music played in my ears. The music was very soft and gentle, but it did nothing to soothe me. My palms were going damp, and very appropriately, my heart was hammering in my chest. I repeatedly told myself to calm down. That I was okay. That everything was fine and that I should not panic. Panic would only make it worse, I told myself. I had to keep breathing slowly and steadily. I could breathe. It was not like two years ago where every breath was a struggle. This was all happening in my mind. But the mind is a powerful thing. A very powerful thing. I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. Breathe, Helena. Just keep breathing. You’re alright. You can breathe. Just calm down. I clenched my fist and focused on my breathing. I was not about to have a panic attack over this! 

It took about five million years before the call was answered. I almost jumped when a brisk woman’s voice said: “You’ve called the cardiovascular unit at St. Thomas Hospital. How may I help you?”

“Hello, my name is Helena Frost,” I shakily introduced myself. “I’d like to speak to doctor Berry, please. It’s urgent.”

“Alright. Please hold a moment, ma’am. I will check if doctor Berry is available.”

“Thank you.”

More waiting. More soft waiting music in my ear. I kept my fingers crossed and hoped that doctor Berry was available. I don’t think I would be able to handle it if I had to wait until tomorrow or- god forbid it!- until after Christmas. God no! No. I had to speak to doctor Berry right now. If she wasn’t available, then I would.... Well, then I would have to drive to London and camp at the hospital until she became available. I brushed a hand over my forehead and leapt from the bed. I couldn’t stand sitting down. I felt like I somehow had to move. So I ended up doing what every cliché in every movie did when they were on the phone. Walk back and forward in the little guest room. Seven steps to the left and seven steps to the right. Back and forward, back and forward. Pepper came slinking in through the half-open door. He elegantly jumped up on the bed and curled into a little grey ball. 

“Hello, Pepper,” I greeted. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here.” but I made no effort to shove him out. He could most likely sense that I was uneasy. Pepper was very intuitive like that. Or so my grandmother said. I hadn’t believed her until today. Today I chose to believe that Pepper had come to offer support and not just because my bed was soft and cozy. 

“This is doctor Berry speaking.”

“Doctor Berry, hello. This is Helena Frost speaking,” I said slightly befuddled because the suddenness. 

“Good morning, Helena,” doctor Berry said, and I noted that her voice became less professional and more warm. Doctor Berry and I knew each other quite well. She had been my doctor all through my illness and following transplant. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said and wondered how I best could ask the questions I needed to ask. 

“Health in tip top shape? Your next consultation is in six months, but it can be rushed if you need it.”

“No, I don’t need to have my appointment rushed,” I assured. “I’m not calling because there’s anything wrong with me.”

“Alright. What can I do for you, then Helena?”

“I...” I paused for a moment and pulled myself together. Looked at Pepper who was still curled up on the bed. Oh, to be as relaxed as a cat. Then I remembered that I was wasting the busy doctor Berry’s time. She was a busy woman and had places to be. “I was wondering if you can tell me something about my.... my donor?” 

“Oh,” doctor Berry said in the other end. She sounded surprised and I couldn’t blame her. So far, I had preferred not knowing anything about the person who had donated their heart. The guilt had been too intense. The idea that I could be carrying the heart of a person who had died under tragic circumstances had been too much. An advanced form of survivors guilt, my therapist had told me. 

“You are of course aware that I cannot give you any specific details such as name and exact age?” doctor Berry said. 

“Yes, I understand that,” I said quickly. “Just... tell me what you’re allowed to tell me.”

“Very well. Give me a moment. I will just pull up your file.”

I sat down on the bed as I waited. Pepper woke up and started purring. I brushed my hand against her head, and she responded by rubbing her tooth against my hand in typical cat fashion. Perhaps she wasn’t as grumpy as I had assumed. Perhaps she was actually a very sweet cat when it came to it. She purred again, and I smiled. No, Pepper wasn’t so bad. Even though I was a dog-person, I had to admit that she was sweet. As I sat there on the bed and waited, I thought of Tiny. Christie’s faithful companion. I hoped that he was providing her with the comfort she needed right now. And I hoped that Christie would come back soon. I didn’t know what I would do if she did not come back. She has to. I reminded myself that this was her home. Where else would she go? She belonged here in Shieldaig... 

As do I....

“Your donor was a female between the age of nineteen and twenty five. She died from complications related to a neurological condition,” Doctor Berry said. “That is all I can tell you seeing that the donors immediate family did not provide with-“

“T-that’s all I need to know,” I said and swallowed thickly. “Thank you so much, doctor Berry. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“Helena-“

“Goodbye,” I said as I very, very quietly ended the call and put the phone down. I stared blankly at the wall as I tried to wrap my head around this. I didn’t need a name or any further detail. Christie’s suspicion had been confirmed. I swallowed thickly once more as I brought one hand up to my chest and felt my heart beat steadily under my skin. Thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud. The heart that had given me life. The one thing I had been waiting for. The one thing my parents had been waiting for. The thing that had made my mother cry when doctor Berry told us there was a heart for me. Naya’s heart. The most precious thing in the world to Christie. Her wife’s heart. Naya had died and I had lived. I was irrevocably connected to Naya. Because of this heart. But also because of the one thing we had in common. Christie.

“Why can I feel you?” I murmured, still with a hand on my chest. “Why can I feel you, Naya?”

Thud-thud-thud-thud, my heart answered steadily against my palm. Thud-thud-thud. Perhaps Naya’s heart could not answer the question I had just asked, but I could perfectly understand what it was saying. Christie. Christie. Christie.....


	39. Christie 23rd of December

23rd of December, Edinburgh 05:00 PM

Christie

“There we are.”

I smiled gratefully as Julie handed me a mug of warm tea. “Thank you.”

She sat down on the sofa. Not right next to me. Julie had always been good at giving me space. She hadn’t asked any questions when Tiny and I suddenly had shown up on her doorstep. Well, I had called her from Ramona’s phone to let her know that I was coming. And as usually, she hadn’t minded. She had just gone ‘okay’ and said that she would pop the kettle on. We had talked a lot during the days I had been here. I had told her everything. About Helena. How I felt about her. The heart transplantation. Naya’s heart beating in Helena’s chest. Julie had looked very surprised and her reaction had been so very Julie. ‘Holy smokes!’ she had said. She had of course asked for certainty. Was I really sure that Naya’s heart was inside Helena? Logically, I knew that she was right. That my hunch wasn’t enough. I needed some kind of confirmation. But my hunch was so strong. And Helena believed me. I had seen that in her eyes. What was she thinking right now? Was she angry at me for leaving? Or was she glad that I had left? She could very well be thinking that this was too strange. I thought about what she had said. About how she had felt drawn to me. But what if she only felt drawn to me because of Naya’s heart? What if some higher power was somehow forcing her to-

No. I took a sip of my tea. I didn’t want it to be like that. I wanted this to be something she chose to do. Not something she felt like she had to do. As I sipped my tea, I wished that I never had told her about the suspicion. Everything had been going so well before. I had been a choice. Now I could very well be an obligation. And I did not want to be that. Not to her. I just wanted to be a choice again. Like Naya had chosen me.

I took a sip of my tea. Swallowed and took a breath. Even though I still did not have any conclusion, I was feeling calmer than I had two days ago when I left Shieldaig. Talking to Julie and hearing her opinion on things always made a difference to me. She was my best friend. The person who knew me best. And she had known Naya right from the start. That mattered too.

“How are you feeling?” Julie asked softly and reached out to pat Tiny. 

“Okay. I guess.” I was definitely in a much better headspace than when I arrived, but still, I didn’t know what to do next. This would undoubtedly change everything. Change everything about Helena. Change the thing we’d had together. Would we even be able to move forward? Or was this the end? I didn’t want this to be the end. I still wanted to be with Helena. I had discovered that last night when I laid awake and tried to sleep. But I wanted to be with her for the right reasons. And I wanted her to be with me for the right reasons. 

“Helena is not Naya,” I said out loud. “I know that she isn’t.”

“I know that you know that she isn’t,” Julie answered, and I smiled a little at the complicated sentence. “But she’s carrying a part of Naya with her.”

“It’s Helena’s heart,” I said firmly. “It isn’t Naya’s anymore. She shouldn’t be feeling any different because of the transplant. And she should not be gravitating towards me.”

“And yet she is,” Julie said lightly. “But it doesn’t have to have anything to do with the transplant.” 

“Julie...” my jaw tightened. “She admitted to having feeling different ever since meeting me. What does that tell you?”

“That she likes you,” Julie said simply. “Isn’t that enough?”

I tugged at the bottom of my braid. “But does she like me for the right reasons? Now she’ll feel like she has to like me.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Chrissy. There is no scientific explanation for this, but does there really have to be? Maybe Naya’s heart has something to do with how Helena is feeling. And maybe it hasn’t. Maybe it’s actually a good thing if Naya’s heart has something to do with it.” 

“It’s a good thing that she’s being controlled by-“

“No,” Julie interrupted plainly. “I don’t buy that. Helena is not being controlled by anything or anyone. Her thoughts are still her own. And do you really believe that any part of Naya ever could have been capable of controlling anyone?”

“No.” I did not need to think about that answer. 

“You care for her,” Julie said simply. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.” I had been well in the process of growing quite fond of Helena Frost. 

“Then why can’t that be all that matters?” Julie asked. “You care for her. She cares for you. The reasons as to why that is should not be relevant.” 

“It’s relevant if she feels like she has to stay,” I mumbled stubbornly. 

“I understand why you’re rattled by this,” my best friend said and patted my hand lightly. “I know that you never had expected to be reminded of Naya in this way.” 

“I had never imagined to meet the person who’s carrying the most important part of my wife,” I said quietly. “And I had never expected to....”

“Fall in love with her?” Julie suggested. 

“Aye.” 

“It isn’t just Helena who’s been gravitating towards you, is it?”

“No,” I admitted. I had felt myself being drawn towards Helena. Interested in her. Willing to talk to her. That was not something that often happened to me. I wasn’t one to approach strangers. But she had been different. There had been something about her. 

Julie flicked a lock of dark hair behind her ear and gave my hand another squeeze. “I don’t think the fact that Helena may or may not be the person Naya’s heart was donated to is the entire reason why you left Shieldaig, Chrissy. I think you’re a bit scared too.”

“What am I scared of then, Professor Julie?” I asked with a slight chuckle. 

She laughed at the rare joke. “I think that you’re realizing that you’re having feelings for someone else, and that scares you because when Naya died you refused to even consider that you someday might fall for someone else. Which I understand because you had just lost your wife. But you’re twenty five, Christie. Your life is far from over. You cannot dedicate the rest of your life to being Naya’s widow. She wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“I know that.” God, did I ever. Naya had told me multiple times that she wanted me to move on. To fall in love with someone else and be happy. At the time I had refused. She was the only one for me, I had been sure of that. But then I had met Helena. Pretty Helena. Pretty, smart Helena with the golden hair and the shiny red nails. With the smooth voice and beautiful, cerulean blue eyes. Her arrival to Shieldaig had changed things. 

“Maybe there is a bigger meaning with all of it,” Julie said softly, eyes on Tiny as he curled up next to the sofa we were sitting on. “Maybe there is some kind of deeper meaning with her showing up. But I don’t think it’s a bad one. I think Helena coming to Shieldaig is the best thing that could possibly happen. Maybe Naya’s heart is what’s bringing you together, but not in a negative way.”

I looked skeptically at my friend. “But being with the woman who has Naya’s heart? Isn’t that-“

“Weird?” Julie suggested. 

“Aye. Exactly.” 

“No. I don’t think it is,” she said lightly. “I think it’s what’s supposed to happen. You and Helena. Together. I think that’s the bigger picture here. Not anything else. The main point is that Helena is here.”

I could see what Julie meant, but I was still hesitant. There would undoubtedly be some kind of confrontation when I returned home. Maybe Helena would be really mad at me. Of course she would. I had planted a suspicion in her head, and then I had taken off. I had left her alone with confused thoughts. That was not a very nice thing to do. I took another sip of my tea. 

Ding!

I jumped a little at the sharp sound. 

“Looks like the muffins are done,” Julie said briskly as she rose from the sofa. “I better go and take those out before they burn.”

“Of course.” I nodded a little. My head hurt from thinking about Helena and everything.

Julie disappeared into the kitchen. Tiny was following her. I heard my friend talk to him, but I wasn’t paying attention to what she said. I was too wrapped up in my own head. Once again, I was thinking about Helena. About her golden hair and lovely smile and red nails. The kiss we had shared in Applecross on the mountain and with the ribbon of swirling colors above us. The ground had been cold, but my lips had been warm. As had my heart. Kissing Helena had been nice. Really, really nice. I... I missed her. I couldn’t deny that. I missed hearing her tap-tap-tap against the keyboard on her laptop. I missed her asking about books. I missed hearing her talk about The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, the book I had given to her. The book I had given to her. Now why had I done that? The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo was so special to me. It had been mine and Naya’s book. Our story in a way. I didn’t just share that book with anyone. But I had shared it with Helena. Perhaps I ought to stop questioning the things Helena did and start examining the things I did. Because this was a two-way street. I too had been doing little things without thinking. I had quietly been looking forward to her every visit to the book café. I had taken her to Applecross to see the Mirrie Dancers. I was gravitating towards her too. I am gravitating towards her right now. Because even though I was with my best friend, even though I always felt perfectly at home here in Julie’s apartment, and even though I had come here to think.... I was yearning after Shieldaig. I was nervous about seeing Helena again. Nervous about what kind of headspace she was in, what she was thinking. But at the same time, I missed her so much it almost physically ached. Is that because of Naya’s heart again, the insecurity whispered at the back of my mind again. That stupid insecurity! That insecurity had cost me so much. I had almost backed out of my first date with Naya because of the insecurity. Should that insecurity really cost me Helena too? I pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger. Perhaps I had already cost me Helena. The things I had said to her too quickly. She had just been sitting there, completely stunned and trying to wrap her head around my suspicion, and instead of giving her the chance to breathe, I had attacked her with too important questions. And then I had taken off. Left without saying anything. That was not okay. Once again, I had made a social error. Once again, my autism had come out to play. I was difficult. At least that was what my parents had told me. And now Helena most likely thought so too. 

I sighed and rubbed my cheek. No matter how much I had messed up, I couldn’t stay in Edinburgh until the end of time. I had to go home. I had to at least try and see if I could fix things. Apologize to Helena for having run out. And tell her that she was in no way obliged to keep on seeing me just because....

“Christie? Would you like a muffin?” Julie called from the kitchen. The question was followed by a click from a strong set of jaws and then a slobbering sound. 

“Yes, thank you. Did you just give Tiny a muffin?”

“No...”

“Julie.”

“Maybe I did.”

I made a sound that was somewhere between amusement and disdain. “He’s not supposed to eat muffins, Jules. Only dog food, okay?”

“Aye. Only dog food,” Julie echoed, and I was certain that she was mocking me a little bit.

I chuckled quietly to myself and clicked my tongue at my best friend when she came into the kitchen with a tray full of blueberry muffins. They smelled fantastic, and I reminded myself to introduce that at the book café. Muffins as well as tarts. That was a good idea. 

“There we are,” Julie said lightly. “Have a muffin, Christie. No. Have two!” she pushed her dark hair away from her face. There was traces of flour on her black jeans and a smear of something on her grey hoodie. I suspected it was blueberries. As usual, my best friend was in perfect disarray with her usual chaotic energy, and I loved her for it. In a world of constant change, Julie remained consistent. 

“I think you know what to do,” Julie said as she took a bite of a blueberry muffin. “Blimey, these are good! You have to try one, Chrissy!”

I obediently took a muffin from the tray and took a bite. She was right. It did taste very good. “You’re right,” I said after having swallowed the bite. “I think I do know what to do.”

“You’re going home, aren’t you?” Julie asked and once again proved how perceptive she was. 

“Aye. I am,” I confirmed. “I have to. I can’t hide on your sofa for years, can I?”

“You’re always welcome to stay,” Julie insisted with twinkling eyes. “But the noise is killing you, isn’t it?”

“It... It is,” I admitted and chuckled. Edinburgh was so big and noisy. If it hadn’t been for Julie, I would never come here. 

“I’ll give you a ride,” Julie said. “Just say the word.”

“I can catch a bus-“

“Christie. No. Stop acting like you’re an inconvenience,” she huffed. “Of course I’m giving you a ride home. It’ll be fun. A mini-roadtrip.”

“Alright,” I said, quickly agreeing without putting up much of a fight. I’d much rather prefer driving with Julie than taking the bus. 

“Good. That’s settled then. Do you know what you’re gonna say to her?”

“Aye, I’m gonna apologize for running,” I said. “And then I’ll tell her that I’m not expecting anything from her.”

“Are you sure that’s the right approach?” Julie asked and raised an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But it’s the only thing I can come up with. And-“ I started smiling as an idea suddenly popped up in my head. “I’m gonna buy her a Christmas present!”

“That’s a good idea,” Julie smiled. “Do you know what you’re gonna give her?” 

Yes, I knew exactly what I would give her. “We have to visit Bookland!” Bookland was this brilliant, hidden little bookstore that sold rare books. I had visited that bookstore many times when I lived here. It   
was one of the places I had escaped to when I couldn’t stand being home. It had been my refugee. And it still was. 

“Uh-oh, Christie is gonna shop for books,” Julie teased. “Should I hire a minivan?”

“No,” I huffed. “I only need one book.”

“Just one?” Julie feigned surprise. “That’s new.” 

I felt myself bubbling with excitement as I always did when I was searching for a particular book. Julie sometimes called me a hunter and teased me by saying that the chase was what I enjoyed most. Maybe she was right. 

“Let’s eat those muffins and then go shopping!” Julie said briskly. “I have a couple of last minute things I need to buy. We’ll shop for a few hours and then have some dinner. Sounds good?”

“Aye,” I smiled. “That sounds very good. And then you will drive me home later?”

“You bet,” she assured and gave me a nudge. “We have to bring you back for Christmas, don’t we?” 

“Yes, we do.” I took a bite of my muffin and felt a sense of peace spread in my body. I was going to spend the day with my best friend. I was going to buy a Christmas present for Helena, and then I would go home. And hopefully, I would be able to fix the mess I had made by leaving. Fix things with Helena.


	40. Helena 24th of December 10:30 AM

24th of December, Shieldaig 10:30 AM

Helena

Grandma huffed as she stood from the plushy chair with some trouble. She grabbed the crutches and started hobbling towards the door. 

“Do you need any help, grandma?” I asked, eying her nervously as she slowly made her way towards the door. 

“No thank you, dear,” she said. Her voice was strained but she was still smiling. “As long as you’ll grab the stuff we need.”

“And drive,” I added. 

“But it’s such short distance-“ 

“Grandma, we’re driving to the grocery store. End of story,” I said firmly and pressed my lips together. The streets had iced over again last night, and the idea of my aging grandmother hobbling towards the grocery store on crutches was not a pleasant one.

“Alright, dear,” grandma said and sounded like she found me to be a bit silly. I was alright with that. “Let’s just get going before the store gets too busy,” she said briskly. “We need some things for the pudding and some cream. And perhaps some extra oranges for the stuffing.”

I nodded and stood from the chair. Grabbed the keys to my grandmother’s car and hovered behind her as she slowly made her way into the hall. She leaned heavily on one crutch as she struggled to put on her coat. 

“Do you need any help?” I offered. 

“No, dear. I’m not an invalid,” she chortled. 

“No. Of course not,” I murmured. 

My tone made her turn around and look at me with her kind, grey eyes. “Chin up, dear,” she said softly. 

I mustered a teeny tiny smile, but I couldn’t see that there was much to smile about. Christie still had not come home. She was still in Edinburgh, and I had no idea when she would be coming home again. Suppose she was going to celebrate Christmas in Edinburgh instead of coming back to Shieldaig? My stomach clenched painfully. I didn’t want her to stay in Edinburgh. I wanted- no, I needed her to come home. 

Grandma and I drove to the grocery store. In there, it did not take long before we were passed up by Margaret who was out shopping for the last few things. I zoned out as she and grandma chit-chatted. I looked around in the grocery store. Every corner was decorated with all things Christmas. Like the book café. I hadn’t been there since Christie had left. I didn’t really see a point with going over there when she was not there. Vanessa was great, but she was not Christie. What if she does not come home? I took a deep breath and tried to quieten the panicked voice in my head. Of course she was going to come home again. She couldn’t stay in Edinburgh forever. Grandma was still chatting with Margaret. They were talking about Christmas. Grandma’s voice was light and warm. She was looking forward to the two of us spending Christmas together. I was looking forward to that too. We were almost ready. We had the turkey and potatoes. We were going to make mince pies later. Every corner of my grandmother’s cottage was decorated for Christmas. To the outside viewer, we were as ready for Christmas as one could be. But I was most certainly not in a Christmas mood. My spirit was low, and I felt grumpier than Scrooge himself. I had had such high hopes for this Christmas. I had started to believe that this Christmas would be different. Last year, I had been miserable and depressed because everything felt so strange and wrong. I had been with my parents, but I had been unable to enjoy anything. The year before that, I had been extremely ill and in the hospital. And the Christmas before that hadn’t been much better. I had been so scared then because I was starting to realize just how ill I truly was. And this year, I was just sad. The heart in my chest had changed everything. And it had possibly driven the best thing happening to me, away from me. But I understood Christie. I understood why she had taken off. And I also understood if she did not want to continue the thing that had started developing between us. I more than understood that. I was a living proof that her wife had died. Just looking at me was a reminder of what she had lost and what Naya had given me. 

But I still wanted to be with Christie. I couldn’t just switch off the feelings I had for her. As much of a grey area all of this was, that did not change. I needed her. Perhaps I was imagining things, but I was certain that I had suffered heart aches since she had left. Being away from her was hurting me. Physically or psychologically, I did not know, but it hurt. I had to talk to her. We needed to talk about this. I needed to know what kind of headspace she was. Had her feelings about me changed completely, or had she left because I had said ‘I don’t know’ instead of saying something else? 

If only I had said something else! By saying ‘I don’t know’, I made it sound like Naya’s heart was the sole reason we were together! But that was not true. And I was going to tell her that. God, I was going to tell her that! 

“Helena? Shall we find the things we need?”

We ventured deeper into the store, and I helped grandma with finding the last bit of stuff we needed. I felt a bit like a robot as I grabbed stuff, and I was immediately spooked by it. Because this was how I had been feeling for two years. Ever since the transplantation. Everything had felt so fake and strange, and there had been certain moments where I was sure that I had been going crazy from feeling so wrong. Here in Shieldaig I had found a new sense of peace. I had found the person who could bring me peace like nobody else could. For the first time in two years, I had felt like myself. But better. Happier. More optimistic. But now that Christie was gone, I felt completely lost. 

As though she knew what I was thinking, grandma gently put a hand on my arm. “I think we could benefit from some Bailey’s. Go get a bottle, dear.”

I chortled quietly as I did as requested and went over to grab a bottle of Bailey’s. Maybe grandma was right. Maybe I did in fact need a smidge of alcohol to lift my non-existent Christmas spirit. 

“What else do we need?” I asked once having dumped the bottle of Bailey’s in the card. 

“Christie,” grandma said plainly. 

That made me let out another chortle. A sadder one. “I don’t think they have that in the store, gran.”

“Perhaps not, but we still need her, don’t we?”

“If she doesn’t want to come home, I have to respect that,” I said quietly. 

“I have the strongest feeling that she will come back sooner rather than later,” my grandmother said as she absentmindedly looked at milk in the cooler. “Yes.” Her white head bopped up and down as she   
nodded. “Everything will work out.”

“Are you some kind of oracle?” I quipped. “Or perhaps the ghost of the Christmas Yet To Come?” 

“No,” grandma huffed. “But it is Christmas, Nena-my-Nena. The season of hope. Everything will work out.”

Nena-my-Nena. The memory of my grandmother calling me that a very, very long time ago popped into my head and made me smile. She hadn’t called me Nena-my-Nena for a very long time, and as I stood there and looked at her in the middle of the grocery store, looked at her white hair which was tied back in an elegant bun as always and her kind grey eyes sparkling with unbridled joy every time she looked at the Christmas décor in the store, I acknowledged how much I had missed her. How I did not want to miss anymore time with her. 

“Grandma, I’m not going home,” I said spontaneously. 

“I know that, Nena-my-Nena. You have already told me that you’re going to stay for as long as I have to use the crutches,” she said softly. 

“No, I mean... At all,” I murmured. “I just.... I can’t see myself going back to London. Or to that life. This is... This is the place I should be. It’s where I need to be.”

Now grandma looked surprised. “Helena, are you certain, dear?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling when I felt how sure I was to my very bones. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to stay right here with you.”

“And Christie,” grandma added softly. 

I lifted my shoulders once. “If she still wants me.” 

“Oh, Helena...” grandma took my hands between her own wrinkly ones and squeezed them. “Of course she will.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Of course I do. I’m an old lady, dear. I know two people in love when I see them. And more so, I know when two people are supposed to be together. And you and Christie are. Believe me, she will come back. And you will be together.”

“I wish I could be as certain as you, gran.”

“Trust me,” she said and kissed my cheek lightly. “I am so happy you are staying, dear. I’ve missed you so terribly these past four years.”

“I’ve missed you too, gran.” As long as I had my grandmother, I did not matter that my parents were absent in my life. Grandma was the whole package.

We continued our shopping trip and ended up adding lots of things we did not need. Silly headbands with reindeer ears and what not. It was absolutely ridiculous, and the idea of my prim and proper grandmother wearing reindeer ears made me laugh. In hindsight, she most likely only bought them to lift my spirit, but it worked. Oh, how it worked. After adding another silly item to the card (even more tinsel for the table) we concluded our visit to the grocery store and went up to pay for everything. 

“Merry Christmas,” the pink-haired cashier said, and I felt the slightest twinge of sadness because her way of speaking was so much like Christie’s way of speaking. Same accent, same soft, almost melodic tone. 

“Merry Christmas,” grandma returned the sentiment and smiled at the cashier. 

I packed the items into grocery bags faster than grandma could argue. And she undoubtedly would have. In her mind, the crutches was not a hindering in anyway. I on the other hand saw things more clearly, and it wasn’t hard to spot the obvious. Meaning that my eighty five year old grandma who was using crutches obviously not should balance said crutches with one hand and helping me with the other. That would only lead to disasters. 

We left the grocery store and went back outside. Grandma commented on how cold it was. A mini-snowstorm had happened out of nowhere yesterday and had iced the roads yet again, and it certainly looked like we could get another storm....

A couple of hours later found my grandmother and I in the living room. She was sitting in her old, plushy chair with her knee propped up. She was reading the book she had borrowed from The Storybook Nook yesterday. Safe Harbour by Danielle Steele. I too had borrowed a book yesterday. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. I was not ready to let go of her and Celia, so I had decided to re-read it. And as I read, I wondered how many times Christie had read this and thought of Naya. The thought of that made a huge lump form in my throat, but I refused to get emotional now. Not in front of my grandmother. She would try and comfort me, and that would only make me even more emotional. A vicious cycle. So I decided that I would hold it together. I could if I made sure to take short breaks where I didn’t read. I used this particular break to look at the Christmas tree in the corner. It was beautiful. Wonderfully decorated and the epitome of Christmas. And far bigger than the tree my parents always had. It looked like a Christmas tornado had exploded all over the tree, but I liked it. I liked it a lot. And I liked that I had made a decision about my future. Staying here in Shieldaig. A teeny tiny village I once couldn’t imagine living in. Now I very much felt like my future was here. 

Scratch-scratch-scratch. 

Grandma looked up from her book. “Did you hear that, dear?”

“I did,” I said and snapped out of my thoughts to look out of the window. The sky was gloomy grey, and the promise of more snow was hanging in the air. 

“Perhaps it was a branch knocking against the window,” grandma suggested as she turned her attention back to her book. 

“Mm.” that sounded plausible enough. I too turned my attention back to my own book. I had reached the part where Celia walks out on Evelyn the first time, and it broke my heart as much as it had the first time, I read it. Evelyn and Celia’s relationship was raw and realistic and beautiful. Wonderfully described down to the last detail. Taylor Jenkins-Reid was a very talented author. One that immediately made me doubt my own talent. But that was a good thing. That was what good authors did. Made you doubt. 

Scratch-scratch-scratch.

“Hmm,” grandma said, and her bushy eyebrows knitted together as she looked up once more. 

“That doesn’t really sound like a branch knocking against the window,” I observed, laying down my book again and looking out of the window once more. I still couldn’t see anything but grey clouds. 

“No, it does not,” grandma agreed. 

Scratch-scratch-scratch.

“Do you suppose it’s a burglar?” I quipped. 

Grandma’s sense of humor did not fail. She laughed heartedly. “Oh no, dear. I doubt it. I don’t think there’s been any break-ins in Shieldaig during the time I’ve lived here, and I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to come here.”

Scratch-scratch-scratch!

“Well, there definitely is something out there,” I concluded, inserting a book mark in the book, and gently closing it. 

“It sounds like it,” grandma nodded and reached for her crutches. “Perhaps I should take a look outside.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” I chuckled as I quickly rose from the sofa. “I’ll do it. Then I can make us some tea as well. You stay here.”

She did not protest, so I went past the big Christmas tree and the two stockings hanging by the chimney and into the hallway and put on my coat and boots. Then I ventured outside. Took a good look at the porch. I could still hear the scratching sound, but I couldn’t see anything. 

“Is there someone out there, dear?” grandma called from the living room. 

“No,” I replied. “But I think it’s coming from the garden, so I think I’ll take a quick look out there.”

“Alright, dear. But hurry back inside. It’s getting very cold. And I think we might be in for another storm.”

“I won’t be long,” I promised as I slipped out of the door and closed it behind me. It really was cold, and I shivered as I turned up the collar on my winter coat. It was quite ridiculous. You almost needed to wear mittens and a hat just to nip outside quickly. That was how cold it was. But I did not mind that. The snow was different here in Scotland. Much more pleasant than the ugly, greyish mess that sometimes clumped together on the streets of London. This snow was... cleaner somehow. 

Scratch-scratch-scratch! Scratch-scratch-scratch!

I walked around the house and into the garden. I found no branches knocking against the window. And no burglars either for that matter. Which was expected. I doubted that any type of burglar would have been able to make that kind of scratching sound anyway. Not unless he or she was standing and scratching his or hers nails against the door. And that would just be plain strange. 

I took a good look around, and it didn’t take long before I spotted something in the pristine white snow. Footsteps. Teeny, tiny footsteps. A smile spread on my lips because I immediately was able to identify the footsteps. I turned my attention to the back door and quickly found exactly what I had been expecting to see. 

The tiny, brown hare was sitting in the snow by the door and scratching her sharp little nails repeatedly against the door. 

“Marilla,” I said and felt myself choke up as I crouched down next to her. “How did you make your way here?”

Marilla of course could not answer. She merely looked up at me with her black pearl eyes. 

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as I reached out and gently brushed a hand over the leveret’s soft coat. Marilla did not shy away from the touch. She was still used to people touching her. 

“I suppose you’d want to come inside, don’t you?” I asked her. 

She sniffed my hand in response. 

A choked little sound escaped me as I carefully scooped the baby hare up and hugged her into my chest. Now Christie had to come home. I wasn’t the only one who needed her. Marilla had come home for Christmas. And I wanted to do something to welcome Christie home too. A gesture Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too long before she came home...


	41. Christie 24th of December 08:43 PM

24th of December, Shieldaig 08:43 PM

Christie

“There we are,” Julie said as she stopped the car. “Right to the door, exactly like I promised ya.” 

“Thank you, Julie,” I said gratefully. But tiredly. The plan about going home yesterday had completely gone south. After Julie and I had come back from our shopping trip, it had started to snow heavily. It hadn’t taken us long to determinate that it would be dangerous to try and drive home in that weather. We had decided to wait until the next day. Today. But the weather had been against us when we woke up. The roads of Edinburgh had been covered in snow, and so we hadn’t been able to leave until in the afternoon. That was the reason why we only had arrived now. This late. My schedule had slipped, and I had found that jarring. But I was not a complete moron. Of course we couldn’t drive when the weather was that bad. I completely understood that. But still, having my schedule messed with was not my most favorite thing on earth. 

“Is it good to be home again?” Julie asked softly as I unbuckled my seatbelt. 

“Aye, it is. Thank you so much for driving me home. And letting me stay.”

“Hey,” Julie said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “You never need to thank me for that, Chrissy. You are always welcome no matter what. It doesn’t matter if you show up in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning. My door is always open.” She chuckled. “Even when it is not.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay driving all the way back?” I asked, fumbling with the door while talking. “I know it’s not supposed to snow until tomorrow, but...”

“I can drive home,” Julie smiled. 

“You don’t want to stay for a little while?” I offered. 

Julie narrowed her blue-green eyes at me. “Christie Rose Starling, you are stalling,” she accused. 

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re terrified at the prospect of talking to Helena.”

I deflated. As always, my best friend had looked right through me. “I ran away, Jules. I ran and just let her sit there and trying to make sense of everything I told her. That was not an okay thing to do.”

“You were overwhelmed, Chrissy,” Julie said softly. “And no, maybe running wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way you could cope with things in the moment.”

“That sounds like a bad excuse,” I mumbled. 

“It’s not. Helena knows it’s not,” Julie said firmly. “Talk to her, Chris. Explain how you feel.”

“And how do I feel?” I asked, only partially joking. I had been processing and processing, but the only type of conclusion I had reached, was that I was still confused. 

“You want to be with her,” Julie said simply. 

“I... I do?” I wasn’t sure why I was even asking. Maybe to get my friends confirmation one more time. Sometimes Julie’s reassurance was what I needed to give me that extra push. 

“Yes, you do,” Julie assured me. She squeezed my hand again and then chuckled softly. “Christie Starling. The girl who fell in love with the same heart twice.”

“It’s Helena’s heart,” I said quickly. That was something I frequently had reminded myself of throughout these last couple of days. That the heart beating in Helena’s chest was hers. Not Naya’s. But that wasn’t what Julie had said, was it? No, she had called me ‘the girl who fell in love with the same heart twice’. And that was definitely not a lie. I was just that. But I wasn’t only in love with Helena’s heart. I was in love with her smile too. Her brightness. Her golden, shiny hair. Her red nails. The little lines she had around her eyes and mouth which became more pronounced when she laughed. I was in love with the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder. I was in love with the way she wrote on her laptop. I was in love with her love for books. And I was-

“Christie? Earth to Starling?”

“Sorry,” I said quickly when realizing that I had been getting lost in thoughts. 

“Where did you just go?” Julie half-chuckled. “Your cheeks went all pink.”

“It’s just the cold,” I dismissed and rubbed my hands together. 

“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” Julie said, flashing me an all too knowing smile. “Now go. Find Helena. Tell her the things you need to tell her. And do what Naya asked you to. Be happy.” She squeezed my hand again. 

“That sounds difficult,” I muttered. 

Julie let out a soft chuckle. “There is no manual for happiness, Chrissy. But sometimes the universe sends us gifts that can make us happy. The universe send you Naya back then. And now the universe has sent you Helena. Don’t let that opportunity go to waste.”

I smiled at her. My wise friend. My brilliant friend who always knew exactly what to say. She had been so patient with me. And she hadn’t found my story to be the least bit strange. And she hadn’t seen it at something negative either. In her opinion, it was meant to be. She had even called it obvious a few times. That I should be with the person Naya had donated her heart to. It made perfect sense. 

But made it perfect sense to Helena too? I supposed there was only one way to find out. 

“I’ll see you soon,” I said as I opened the door. 

“Very soon. I might actually stop by after New Year’s. I have some holiday I haven’t used yet.”

“You’re always welcome. You know that. Oscar too if he wants to come with you.”

“He might,” Julie chuckled. “You know what he’s like. He never can enough of Tiny.”

“You ought to get the poor man a dog.”

“Aye, maybe,” Julie mused. “One of those teeny tiny ones Tiny can walk around in his mouth with.”

“He doesn’t do that, Tiny would never- oh.” I grimaced a little. That had been a joke. Of course. 

Julie laughed, and so did I. My tendency to take things literally had lead to many a funny moment between Julie and me. My favorite was still when Julie had accused me of buttering up Naya. I had been so confused about what butter had to do with anything until Julie had burst out laughing. She had been in tears of laughter as she explained what she meant. Then she had apologized for laughing at me, but it had not been necessary. I too had been amused and laughed. And when Naya came back, she too laughed when I told her. That had been a good day. 

“Well, I should get going,” I said, snapping out of it and at last getting out of the car. Julie followed me. She helped me haul out the duffel bag. Tiny did not need any help. He just elegantly hopped out of the car and yawned loudly. Then wagged his tail. He was happy to be home. 

Julie gave me a big hug. “I’ll see you soon, Christie. Now go and get your girl, for cryin’ out loud!”

“Oh, I can’t just come barging into Mollie’s house now,” I pointed out. “It’s getting late. And it’s the day before Christmas and all.”

“Christie-“

“And I don’t know what I’ll say yet,” I interrupted. “I need time to figure that out.”

“So you’re talking to her tomorrow?”

“Aye,” I promised. “I will talk to her tomorrow.”

“You better! Or else...” Julie mock-threatened.

I laughed as I gave her one more hug. “You should get going. Before it starts snowing again. And you have such a long drive home.”

“That’s fine,” she said lightly, having easily spotted the hint of guilt in my voice. “I love driving late at night. You know that.”

I did know that. I gave her one more hug for good measurement. Julie gave good hugs. She more or less ordered me to talk to Helena ‘asap’, and I promised to do that. After one more goodbye, we parted ways. Julie got back inside her car and drove off. 

I remained standing on the pavement and watched until I couldn’t see her car anymore. I was grateful for Julie. She had helped me get back in the proper headspace. When I arrived in Edinburgh, I had been on the verge of dropping all contact with Helena because of everything, but now I could see that I didn’t have to do that. I didn’t have to drop anything. Julie had convinced me of the opposite. She was right. Giving up Helena would be the worst thing I could possibly do. But perhaps I had realized that too late. Perhaps my little running away stunt had cost me her. Or perhaps she simply found all of it too strange. I wouldn’t blame her for that. I wouldn’t blame her for anything. 

“Come on, Tiny,” I said and tapped my thigh once to get his attention. “Let’s go home.”

He willingly followed me as we walked down the street. I had my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, and I thought to myself that it was a good thing I didn’t have to walk very far. The duffel bag was heavy, and the weather was getting colder. According to the news, it wouldn’t start to snow again until tomorrow morning, and I hoped that was true. I wanted Julie to get home safely. Like me. 

“It was nice staying with Julie, wasn’t it, boy?” I asked my faithful companion. 

“Arf,” Tiny said cleverly. 

“Right. Was that a burp?” I chuckled. 

Tiny reacted by making another questionable sound, and I had a feeling that I was right. That it had in fact been a burp. “That was disgusting,” I told him. “But cute too.”

He nudged my hand like he always did when he walked beside me. 

“What should we do with Helena?” I murmured. “Should we go talk to her tomorrow?”

“Woof!”

“Do you think she wanna talk to us?”

He nudged my hand again, and I thought to myself that I shouldn’t keep saying ‘we’. It reminded me a little too much of Sméagol and Gollum.

The sense of feeling grateful for being home again, was quickly replaced with surprise when I reached my cottage. There was something hanging on my door. A Christmas wreath. A big, green, and red thing that almost filled the entire door. It was huge. And not something I could recognize either. I had not hung that wreath on the door. But ever since I had finished decorating my house for Christmas, I’d had the feeling that there was something I had forgotten. And now I knew what that something was. A Christmas wreath. 

I tilted my head as I looked at it. Wondered who had put it there. But as I looked at the wreath, looked at the shiny, red bow on top, it occurred to me that perhaps I already knew. It had to be Helena. I couldn’t think of anyone else who knew of my fondness for shiny red. 

“Wow,” I said quietly as I walked onto the porch to take a closer look at the wreath. Now I could see that there was a little note attached to it. My fingers trembled a little as I unfastened the note and read it:

Christie,

I passed by your door and noticed that you didn’t have a wreath. So I bought the largest one the store had to offer. In hindsight, it might be a bit too big, but oh well. It reminded me of the time where I helped you pick up that other Christmas wreath you were hanging on the door to the book café. Our fingers connected briefly, and I already felt something there. My heart started pounding.

Hopefully, the red color on the bow will be as shiny when you come back. 

I hope you’ll come home soon. I miss you.

Helena. 

My heart fluttered in my chest. Helena wasn’t angry with me. She was hoping that I would come back soon, and she.... She missed me. I felt my cheeks heating up as I folded the note and stuffed it into the pocket of my parka. I wanted to keep it. Possibly forever. This note made me want to turn around and run all the way back to Helena’s grandmother’s cottage and kiss her. My heart was pounding now. 

Helena wasn’t even here, and she still made me feel all breathless and bubbly inside. I zoned out completely as my mind was filled with thoughts about Helena. I was still nervous about talking to her, but this note gave me some hope. Maybe she didn’t think that I was strange after all. Maybe she still liked me. 

Tiny whined impatiently and gave my hand a nudge with his big snout. 

“Alright, alright, we’re going in,” I assured him and fumbled in my pocket to kind the key. After a moment, I managed to fish it out of the pocket, and the minute the door was unlocked, Tiny was inside in a heartbeat. 

I chuckled quietly to myself. Tiny loved Julie. He loved to be in her apartment and have her undivided attention all the time, but there was nothing that could beat being home and cozy in his basket. He was a homebody. Exactly like me. 

I slipped off my coat and shoes and ran a finger through my hair. My braid had gone a little messy from having been flattened against the car seat all night, but I was too tired to do anything about it. I gently lifted the note out of the coat-pocket and padded into the kitchen. Used a magnet to attach it to the fridge. That was where that note would stay. I looked around in my little kitchen. It looked the same as always. Almost. There was a lone cup standing on the table. I had forgotten to move it before I rushed out of the cottage to catch Ramona before she went to Edinburgh without me. I picked up the cup and mechanically rinsed it in the sink. Spread soap on it without paying attention. I had this strange itching sensation in my feet. The kind of itch that made me want to bolt out of the house and over to Helena. Closing my eyes, I silently scolded myself. Not tonight, Starling. You’re tired and overwhelmed from having talked about everything for two days. You have to give yourself a break. Yes, I knew my limits. But tomorrow was Christmas Day. Surely, I couldn’t just interrupt Helena and Mollie’s Christmas, could I? Perhaps I’ll have to wait until the day after tomorrow, I mused as I went back to the hallway and grabbed my duffel bag. I brought it upstairs with me. Laid it down on the bed and unzipped it. Now it was time to unpack, but I was distracted by the thing laying on top of all my clothes. 

The gift for Helena was wrapped in shiny red paper and had a pretty bow on top. There was a slight chance that I had been a bit too overly perfectionistic when I wrapped it, but I absolutely detested the impersonal way of wrapping the stores had to offer. I preferred to do it myself. The result always turned out better. I carefully lifted the square shaped package out of the duffel bag and placed it on the bed. Tiny who had followed me upstairs, curiously sniffed at it, but I made him stop with a stern: “stop it, you. It’s for Helena. I don’t want no dog drool on it, you hear me?”

He looked mighty offended but stopped sniffing, and I chuckled slightly as I ran my hand over the gift. I hoped Helena would like it.......


	42. Helena Christmas Day 06:00 AM

Christmas Day, Shieldaig 06:00 AM

Helena

It’s Christmas. That was the first thought that popped into my head when I woke up. It was December 25th . Christmas Day. I blinked my eyes open and was met with a bright, white light coming from outside. A new and thick layer of snow had fallen while I slept. I got out of bed and walked over to the window. Smiled as I looked out. Snowy white everywhere. Glimmering Christmas lights illuminating everything even though the light was still faint. What a beautiful Christmas morning this was. We couldn’t have asked for better weather on this Christmas morning. This would be a good day. For once, I felt happy. Christmas for the past four years had been overshadowed by first concern about my heart condition that was gradually worsening, and then confusion over not feeling quite like myself. 

Christmas this year would be a hundred percent different. Because I was different. I was with my grandmother. The person who understood me best. And I had found a place to call home. My decision about staying had not changed overnight. I was not going anywhere. Yes, there were people who would be surprised. My agent being one of them. But I didn’t care. Shieldaig was most definitely the place for me. No doubt about that. 

I heard a bit of shuffling from downstairs. Grandma was already awake. Of course she was. She had always been an early riser. And I saw no reason to go back to bed either. Christmas Day was not for sleeping. And besides, Marilla was waiting for me. The leveret had spent the night in my grandmother’s bathroom. She had been very happy huddling in the corner with a carrot to snack on. I wasn’t quite sure why she preferred the bathroom, but I had a feeling that Christie was the one who had taught her that the bathroom was nice and cozy, and the idea of that had made me chuckle to myself last night. 

I had thought a lot about Christie after finding Marilla in the garden yesterday. That was why I spontaneously had rushed to the store last minute and bought the biggest Christmas wreath the store had to offer. The one with the biggest, most reddest bow. The color had been so shiny. Christie liked red. So even though the Christmas wreath was over the top, I had bought it and attached a little note to it. 

Just so she knew that I was still here. That I was waiting for her. 

I turned away from the window and grabbed my bathrobe and shrugged it on. Now it was time to head downstairs. 

Downstairs, I found grandma in the kitchen. She was looking at something on the floor, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that the something was Marilla. 

I chuckled. “Did you bring her in here, grandma?”

“I did,” she confirmed. “I was afraid that she was getting lonely in the bathroom.”

“And was she?”

“Yes. I believe she prefers to be with people. But it would appear that she’s still looking for someone,” grandma observed. 

We both looked at Marilla who was sitting in the middle of the kitchen with her long ears perked up. Of course she was looking for someone. It wasn’t difficult to figure out who she was looking for. The same someone that I was looking for. 

“Merry Christmas, dear,” grandma beamed as she hobbled over to me on her crutches and kissed my cheek lightly. 

“Merry Christmas, grandma,” I smiled. 

She leaned on one crutch and lifted the other to point to the living room. “Santa came,” she happily announced.

“Did he now?” I chuckled. My eighty five year old grandmother could sound exactly like a child when she wanted to. 

“Should we see what he brought us this year?” she asked and kept the pretense going. 

“What a good idea,” I chortled and took her arm to help her into the living room. 

The big Christmas tree in the corner greeted us. As did the two red stockings hanging by the fireplace. Grandma had plenty of Christmas ornaments and decorations, and she had insisted on using all of it this year. I couldn’t complain. Even though it looked like a Christmas tornado had ran wild in here, I liked it. 

I ‘parked’ grandma on the sofa so she didn’t have to strain her bad leg, and then I took the two stockings. 

“How exciting,” grandma snickered as she was handed her stocking. 

“Mmm, let’s see if Santa did good this year,” I said as I sat down next to her. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, and on three, we both thrusted a hand inside our Christmas stockings. I found a large, square formed package in mine, and I amusedly wondered how on earth grandma had managed to stuff   
that down the stocking. That poor stocking would be misshapen for all eternity. I also found a smaller package in the bottom of the stocking, and I congratulated myself with having bought my grandmother two gifts as well.

“What on earth can this be?” grandma hummed as she too lifted two gifts out of her stockings. 

“Well, why don’t you unwrap it and find out?” I teased.

I didn’t have to tell her twice. Grandma eagerly tore off the wrapping paper and exclaimed in delight at what she found. It was a bit of a silly gift, really. Silly, but practical. It was a book seat. Grandma loved reading these thick, heavy historical fiction books that weighted a lot, and she had often complained that she shouldn’t be reading such heavy books because she struggled to hold it in her hands. Her arthritis had made her fingers and wrists weaker. With this book seat, she didn’t have to physically hold the book upright. She could sit on the couch with the book seat propped up on a pillow and only using her hands when she needed to turn a page in the book. 

“Oh, Helena, what a good idea!” grandma said happily. “Now I won’t have to hold the book in my hands!”

“That’s right, you don’t,” I smiled. “Do you like it? I know it’s a bit silly, but-“

“I love it!” grandma interrupted and patted my hand. “That was wonderfully thoughtful of you, dear. Now it’s your turn to open one.”

“Alright.” perhaps I was grown up, but I was still kid enough at heart to choose the biggest gift first. With eager fingers, I tore the wrapping paper open and smiled at what I found inside. A huge leather bound book with twisted vines running down the sides and back, and golden letters printed on the front. There was also a beautiful ink pen in the same, vintage inspired theme, and I took a moment to admire that before I turned my attention back to the words written on the front of the book. ‘All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.’, I read aloud and smiled at grandma. “Ernest Hemingway said that.”

“He did,” she nodded and patted my hand gently. “This book is for your new project. Whenever that might be.”

“I think we both know it’s coming at some point,” I said lightly. “Thank you so much, grandma. I love it!”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. I know you have a fancy computer and all that, but...” she huffed a little. “I choose to believe that this notebook will inspire you.”

“I’m sure it will,” I said softly as I leaned in and kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek again. 

“I believe it’s my turn!” she declared as I admired my new notebook. It was really very beautiful. I could easily see myself writing in this in the future.

Grandma easily tore through the wrapping paper on her second present, and she was delighted at the gift I had come up with. Cozy, warm fleece slippers that came with a twist. And that twist was that you could pop them inside the microwave. Just give them two minutes and they would be toasty warm. 

Then it was my turn to open the second and last gift in my stocking. Inside the small wrapped present was a pair of beautiful, silver earrings formed as stars. 

“Oh, grandma,” I beamed. “They’re beautiful!”

“Are you certain that you like them, dear? Because you can go into the store and get something else if you-“

“No,” I said. “I love these.” And to prove it, I quickly slipped them through the holes in my ears. 

“They suit you,” grandma smiled. “I chose well.”

“You sure did.” I returned her smile and thought to myself that this was the kind of Christmas I had always wanted. Humble gifts and the company of my grandmother. I did not need anything else. 

After we had exchanged gifts, it was time for breakfast. Grandma tried to insist on making it, but I banished her from the kitchen. She couldn’t very well hobble around on one leg. I was going to make breakfast. Like I had ever since her accident. Because it was a special day, I made French toast. Grandma’s old recipe. I had so many memories of her making this for me when I was a little girl. It was very nostalgic, and grandma smiled softly when I put the plate of French toast on the table. “There was a time where I made this for tiny little Nena,” she hummed. “Where did the time go?”

I shrugged. “I’m afraid I grew up, grandma.”

She clicked her tongue in mock disdain. “Terrible habit.”

I chuckled. “Yes, isn’t it?” I was trying my best to make my peace with turning thirty six in a couple of months. I knew that thirty six wasn’t a big scary number. And I also knew that I had absolutely no business whatsoever complaining about my progressing age. There had been a time where I feared that I wouldn’t make it past thirty three and four. And definitely not forty. I reminded myself to be grateful. Approaching the big forty was an accomplishment and not something bad. 

Grandma praised the French toast. I stated that hers were better, but she scoffed and insisted that this was the best French toast she had ever tasted. I took the praise with a smile, and as we ate breakfast, Marilla was hopping around on the floor. Grandma and I fed her pieces of carrot, and I told the leveret that she was the sweetest little baby bunny I had ever met. I could practically hear Christie in my head. She was correcting me. Telling me that Marilla wasn’t a bunny but a hare. Christie would definitely say something like that. I chuckled to myself and tried to ignore how much I missed Christie. 

Perhaps she truly had decided to stay with her friend in Edinburgh over Christmas. 

When breakfast was over with, we helped each other clear the table. As I wiped the counter, grandma said: “usually, I would head over to Margaret’s place to exchange gifts with her, but because of my knee, we’ve agreed that she will be coming here instead.”

“What a good idea. Should I make some more tea?” I offered.

“No thank you, dear. Margaret can do that when she arrives,” grandma said sneakily. “Might as well put her to good use when she comes over.”

“Grandma,” I protested and laughed. “You shouldn’t be this mean on Christmas day!”

She just shrugged and smiled like a kid about to make mischief. 

“I think I’ll go for a walk then,” I decided. “The weather is so nice. It would be a shame not to take advantage of that. You don’t mind me going for a walk, do you?” 

“No, of course not, dear. Margaret and I will probably just bore you with our nonsense.”

“Grandma,” I scoffed. “Stop teasing.”

She chortled. Clearly satisfied with herself. And I was glad that her injured knee had not put a damper on her good mood. I assured her that I would be gone too long. We had a turkey that needed cooking, and I wasn’t planning on letting her do everything alone. 

“And we also need to figure out what to do with our favorite leveret,” grandma added and looked at Marilla who was happily hopping around on the floor. “She’s obviously not happy being outside in the open any longer.”

“Maybe I’ll run into Jennie on the way,” I said. “She’ll probably know what to do.”

“Yes, most likely. See you later, dear.”

“See you. Don’t be too hard on Margaret.”

“Oh, I can’t promise you that,” she cackled. 

I shook my head and thought to myself that Christmas must have gotten to her head. She was awfully cocky this morning. But that was better than being upset over her crutches and bad knee and all. 

I went into the hallway where I slipped on my boots and heavy winter coat. 

“Bring your gloves too, dear,” Grandma creaked from the living room. “I believe it’s very cold outside today!”

“Noted,” I half-chuckled as I put on my gloves. It did not matter how old I got. She would always see me as a little girl who needed to be reminded of wearing my gloves. It was quite sweet. 

“I won’t be long,” I promised once again as I stood with one hand on the doorknob. 

“Perhaps Margaret and I will be drunk on eggnog when you get back.”

I carefully instructed her to save some for me.

Grandma was right. The weather was indeed very cold on this fine Christmas day. I turned the collar up and shivered a little as I walked down the street. If one walked at a brisk tempo, it was possible to stay warm. Although it was Christmas day and still pretty early, Shieldaig was bustling with life. I met several happy children on my way. One of them I recognized as the little girl who had been in Christie’s book café one day. 

“Merry Christmas,” she said and flashed me a big smile. 

“Merry Christmas,” I said and returned the smile. 

She eagerly proceeded to ask about the gifts I had received this morning, but my answer seemed to disappoint her. Perhaps she thought that it was boring ‘grownup’ gifts. But I did not share that belief. I had just had the nicest Christmas morning in years. The gifts had not been all that important. 

I continued my walk down the street. I had convinced myself that I did not have a particular direction in mind, but perhaps I had anyway. My feet were carrying me towards The Storybook Nook. Of course. That was the place I was drawn to. It made perfect sense that my subconscience was taking me there. I shivered in my coat again and wished that I had remembered a scarf. It was getting more windy, and the first flakes of snow were falling from the sky. Snow for Christmas. I couldn’t think of anything more perfect. But cold too. It made perfect sense that Marilla didn’t want to be outside in this weather. She had gotten used to the warm comfort inside. But she couldn’t stay with grandma and me. We weren’t exactly equipped to take care of a leveret. We didn’t have any proper food or a cage for her. Not that I believed she was all that interested in being locked in a cage. She seemed perfectly happy with hopping around on the floor and sleeping in the bathroom at night. But as sweet as that was, she could not stay with us. Grandma was using crutches. Marilla was tiny. It would be awful if grandma tripped over her and risked hurting both of them in the process. No, we had to get a hold of Jennie somehow. I still hoped that I ‘accidentally’ would bump into her. Shieldaig wasn’t that big. It was entirely possible to run into Jennie. I definitely wouldn’t come knocking on her door. Not on Christmas Day. That would be rude. And our situation wasn’t urgent or anything. Marilla could easily stay with us for another week or two. But deep down, I had a feeling that grandma and I weren’t Marilla’s first choice. She was looking for Christie. Of course she was. How the little leveret had found her way to grandma’s garden was a bit of a mystery. Or a Christmas miracle. Perhaps the little hare had some kind of sixth sense. Yes, that was probably it. 

I smiled as I passed Ramona Suarez. “Merry Christmas,” I greeted. 

“Merry Christmas, Helena,” she beamed in response, and the sight warmed my heart. I was becoming a familiar face in Shieldaig. A part of the village. That never would have happened in London. Not even on Christmas Day. 

I had just rounded a corner when I heard something. The softest of voices that was being carried by the blowing wind. I stopped and strained my ears for a moment. Did my best to listen. And after a moment, I succeeded. First it merely humming, but it didn’t take long before words followed: 

‘Children sleeping,

Snow is softly falling.

Dreams are calling,

Like bells in the distance.

We were dreamers, not so long ago...

But one by one we, all had to grow up.

When it seems the magic slipped away, 

We find it all again on Christmas day.

Believe in what your heart is saying, hear the melody that’s playing, 

There’s no time to waste, there’s so much to celebrate...’

I knew that voice. Of course I did. Although I had never heard her sing before, I was immediately able to identify her voice. Christie was home. She was finally home. And she was singing so softly and beautifully that my chest first constricted and then expanded as my heart grew four sizes. Or so it felt.

‘Trust in starlight, to get where you need to be...’

I wasn’t quite sure what it was that was taking over me. An instinct or quite possibly something bigger. Either way, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I was now practically running down the street although I was far too old for those kind of shenanigans. A fully grown woman, running down the street. What did it matter? The only thing that mattered was that Christie is home, Christie is home, Christie is home. 

I found her outside the book café. She was in the process of putting out a large sign. Tiny was beside her, of course. But I did not look at the dog. I did not look at the sign either. I just looked at her. Her copper red hair was flowing freely and brushing her lower back. Blowing softly in the slight wind. Despite the cold weather, she was only wearing a short sleeved red velvet dress that gave way to milky white skin covered in freckles. 

She stopped singing. Stopped fussing with the large sign and looked up. There was no doubt she had seen me. Her eyes flickered only for a moment before she lifted her hand and gave a slight wave. 

I was unable to return the greeting. I was unable to move. I was unable to look away from her as she stood there and looked like Christmas itself.


	43. Christie Christmas Day 07:30 AM

Christmas Day, Shieldaig 07:30 AM

Christie

Helena. 

The term ‘my heart skipped a beat’ had never applied to me. I understood that the term was often used in connection with fear, surprise or any type of excitement, but I had always found it to be quite... silly. And concerning. Surely, your heart skipping a beat had to stem from some kind of medical condition, right? 

But now as Helena was crossing the street and coming towards me, I finally understood why people the term ‘my heart skipped a beat’. Because that was what was happening right now. My heart was going boom-boom-boom so loud I was certain anyone and everyone could hear it. Suddenly, I felt stupid for waving like a fool, and I slowly lowered my hand again. I felt even more stupid for singing in public. I was by no means a good singer, but sometimes I did it anyway when I was particularly wrapped up in my own head. And I had been just that a moment ago. 

Tiny started barking as Helena came over to us. She looked so pretty in her big winter coat and that golden, shiny hair blowing in the wind. She had forgotten a hat. Her ears were all pink and so was her cheeks. I liked that color on her. 

“Christie,” she said. Her voice sounded slightly breathless as though she had been running. 

“The Christmas wreath is pretty, thank you, it was very nice of you to-“ I stopped talking when I realized that I was rambling. I bit my lip and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. I knew I should have put it in a braid instead of letting it hang loose. “Sorry,” I said and cleared my throat. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Helena said softly. Her cerulean blue eyes shone as she smiled. Was that smile really for me? It shouldn’t be possible. Her eyes wandered to the sign I had just put out. I followed her gaze and quickly went over what I had written on the sign once again. ‘The Storybook Nook is open for Christmas! There’s plenty of hot chocolate for the children and eggnog and coffee for the grown-ups. Mince pies for everyone. Don’t hesitate to come on in and celebrate Christmas with Tiny and myself.’

“Are the grownups allowed to have some hot chocolate too?” Helena asked and her mouth curved into a smile. 

“Aye, of course,” I said slightly surprised. Maybe I should have clarified that on the sign. 

“How come you are keeping the book café open tonight?” Helena inquired. 

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Do you not think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” she said quickly. “I’m just wondering why you’re doing it?”

“Ramona Suarez has recently gotten divorced, so she’s alone for Christmas,” I said. “Mr. Jensen’s nieces and nephews lives far away and cannot make it. He doesn’t have anyone to drive him. David, the young bloke who comes in every Friday lost his mother three months ago. He’s here to clear out her old house, and I don’t think he would have celebrated Christmas on his own. Vanessa and her mother... Well, Vanessa’s father died in an accident six months ago. This is their first Christmas without him, and I don’t want them to sit alone. I think-“ a wind lifted my hair and made it flutter in front of my face. I hastily brushed it away before it could distract me. “I think there are several people here who’s alone for Christmas. So I figured... Why not open the book café and see how many people will show up for it. Maybe it’ll just be Tiny and I.”

Tiny’s ears perked up when hearing his name. 

“Or maybe there will others showing up,” I continued and smiled at my dog. “I’ve got plenty of mince pies.”

Helena smiled. “What a good idea.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I really do.”

I shifted a bit. Pushed a lock of hair behind my ear again. “Maybe... Maybe you and Mollie would like to come too?”

“Why yes, we would love to,” Helena said, and I could sense that she was both surprised and happy to have been asked. 

I looked down at the ground. Looked down at my heavy, black boots. I had kept the small talk going so far, but I had reached a limit. It was time to get to the core of the conversation. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. 

Helena reached out and lightly touched my hand. “Why are you apologizing?” she asked softly. 

“Because I ran away,” I murmured. “Because I said all of that to you and then just ran off. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You did what you had to do to cope,” she replied. 

“No, Lena, that is not fai-“ Lena? Why are you calling her ‘Lena’, you dummy? Her name is Helena. Not ‘Lena’!

“Why don’t we go inside and talk?” Helena suggested. “It’s a bit cold standing out here, don’t you think?” 

“Aye, of course, let’s go on, it’s lots warmer in there,” I rambled and nearly tripped over my own feet in my eagerness to open the door for her. 

All three of us made it inside the book café where it indeed was warm. The fireplace was lit, and the flames were flickering merrily. I had added a few extra Christmas ornaments just so everyone could see that this place was open for Christmas. Tiny trotted over and laid down next to the Christmas tree. 

Helena took off her coat, and that made me happy. So she was not about to leave just yet. She hung the coat on the back of one of the plushy chairs, and then she turned her attention back to me. Her cerulean blue eyes shone, and her pretty lips curved up in a smile. “You have nothing to apologize for, Christie.” 

“I have everything to apologize for,” I mumbled. “I sprung so much on you, and then I just ran. And the things I was thinking at the time, I have to apologize for those too! I kept thinking that it is Naya’s heart, and that’s not right, because it’s not. It’s your heart. Not Naya’s. And just because you have hers- that heart in your chest... Well, it doesn’t matter. I mean, it doesn’t mean that you have to do anything or- or be anything. To me, I mean. What I’m trying to say is that I’m not expecting anything from you just because her heart was put inside your body. You don’t owe me anything. Nothing at all. I actually understand if you don’t wanna continue what was going on with us because it is too weird now, and-“ shut. Up. Christ, you’re rambling, Starling! What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be quiet instead of running your mouth?!

“Blimey,” Helena said softly. “That was a lot of words.” 

I blushed. Of course. Blushing was what I did when I ran out of words. Blushed and looked away like a fool.

“I actually think that’s the most you’ve said in the time I’ve known you,” she continued and chuckled lightly. Her laughter was soft. Gentle. She wasn’t not laughing at me. She wasn’t having a laugh on my expense. 

“I called my doctor,” Helena said. “To ask about the donor. Of course she wasn’t allowed to give me a name or specific details, but she told me enough. Female between the age of nineteen and twenty five. Dead from pneumonia related to neurological illness.” 

I swallowed thickly and nodded. That was definitely Naya. It had to be. 

“I believe that’s all the confirmation we need, don’t you?” Helena continued. 

I nodded again. 

“And I agree with you. Us being together is definitely unorthodox everything considered...”

My heart sank, but I forced myself to nod and not interrupt. It was Helena’s turn to talk now. I couldn’t just hijack the whole conversation. Why is it always all or nothing with me? Either I don’t say anything at all, or I’m rambling like a fool. 

“But my feelings have not changed,” she said. “Not even in the slightest.”

That should have made me feel happy. But parts of my last conversation with her was still haunting me. 

“And I think you should know that I’ve decided to stay in Shieldaig. Permanently. London doesn’t really apply to me any longer. But this place does. I’ve been feeling much more grounded ever since arriving here. Ever since I met you.” She lightly put a hand on her chest. 

I imagined doing the same. Putting my hand on her chest and feeling that special, precious heartbeat under my palm. 

“The heart wants what it wants,” Helena said half-jokingly. 

But I didn’t share her amusement and shook my head. “Helena, you cannot stay just because of that. Her heart inside your chest... It shouldn’t matter. It really shouldn’t. That is...” my voice threatened to break. “That is not how a heart transplantation works.”

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “Most people who gets a heart transplant is probably able to carry on with their lives without feeling any change whatsoever. But that is not the case for me. To me, it matters. I won’t pretend I know how, but somehow, it does. I’ve been feeling strange and out of place for two years now. I’ve been feeling like I don’t belong anywhere. Like I’m lost. But then I came here and met you. And everything just.... clicked.” 

I pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger harshly. “It’s still not right, though. It sounds like you’re being pushed to being here. And I don’t want that. I want you to be here because.... Because you want to.”

“Christie.” 

Helena’s voice was so soft I almost wanted to weep. My gaze fixed on the floor yet again. Helena did nothing to try and make me look up. Instead she simply reached out and touched my hand again. “I could turn around and leave right now if that was what I wanted. But it isn’t. I am here because I want to.”

“With your mind or your heart?” I asked and swallowed thickly. My throat hurt. 

“Both.” 

“So-“

“Look,” she interrupted. “If the heart beating inside my chest is the reason that I’m standing here... If there’s some sort of higher power bringing us together.... Then I’m grateful.”

“G-grateful?” now I was stuttering too. Perhaps I truly was reaching my limit for speech. 

“Yes. I am,” Helena said, and her slim fingers weaved into mine. “Very, very grateful. Because my life back in London... It was shallow and brief and superficial. I took so many things for granted. I was always busy. Too busy to pick up my phone and call my grandmother. Too busy to think about what was important and what is not. The illness forced me to slow down, but I was still determined to live my life like I had before. As though nothing had changed. I still prioritized things that were less important. But then I had the heart transplant, and everything was changed in the blink of an eye. I woke up and felt it right away. That something had changed. At first, I did not want to acknowledge it, but as time progressed, I couldn’t keep ignoring it. I had changed. My priorities had changed. For the better. When my grandmother called me and invited me to Shieldaig, I said yes. I didn’t even have to think about it. The old Helena wouldn’t have said yes. The old Helena wouldn’t have kept on extending her stay in a small Scottish village.”

“Would the old Helena have been interested in me?” I asked, voice small and nearly breaking. 

“I don’t know. But that is not relevant. Because I’m not the old Helena. I’m changed. I’m better. I feel more peaceful. At least I do when I’m with you. And if I’m feeling like that because of the transplantation... I am only grateful for it. I’m grateful that it lead me here. To you. I’m grateful for that. Truly, I am. Because meeting you... Well, I’m pretty sure that’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.” 

My vision had gone foggy, and there was something wet on my cheeks. Helena reached up and gently swiped a tear away. All I wanted was to fall into her arms, but I was still hesitant. Still scared. Helena wanted to be with me. I could see that. Julie said that it would make perfect sense if the two of us were together. She had said that it was meant to be. And yet I was scared. She was the first person I had grown fond of after loosing my wife. And she wasn’t just any person. But still... Could we really do this? Her and me. 

“And as for the heart,” Helena said softly, voice a bit thicker now. “You’re right. It’s not Naya’s.”

“I know that,” I muttered. “I really do, and I’ll try to remember that in the-“

“But,” she continued, chuckling slightly as she talked over me. “It’s not mine either.”

I frowned. “You’ve lost me.” 

“Don’t you see?” Helena murmured as she gently lifted both my hands and placed them slightly to the left on her breast bone. “It’s yours, Christie. It was yours from the moment I first met you. No. It was yours even before that. All this time, it has been wanting you. It has been searching for you. Can you feel how hard it’s pounding?”

“Aye,” I whispered. I could. Right under my palm. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. The most beautiful sound I had ever heard. 

“You’ve been the keeper of this heart once already,” Helena said, lifting her free hand to my cheek. “Help me take care of it again. You’re the only one who knows how.”

“Helena are you.... are you sure?” I breathed and tried not to get distracted by her heart beating under my palm. 

“I have never been more sure of anything else,” she said. Now something was sliding down her cheeks too. 

It was like something clicked and fell into place inside me. Helena was here. She wanted me as I wanted her. She wanted me to help her take care of her beautiful, precious heart. And I would do that. Oh, how I would do that!

“Can I.... can I hug you?” I whispered. 

“I think I’ll start weeping if you don’t.”

I laughed as I wrapped my arms around her neck and finally, finally fell into her arms. I stumbled. She stumbled. We could so easily have fallen over. But at the last minute, Helena regained balance, and I felt her arms lock around me as mine was locked around her. I felt her fingers in my hair, and as I inhaled deeply, I could smell it. Magic. Sweet and crispy and radiating from Helena. Beautiful, wonderful   
Helena who felt for me as I felt for her. I wanted her. All of her. Heart, soul, and body. And preferably forever. 

“Naya saved my life,” Helena spontaneously whispered into my hair. 

“And then she sent me you,” I murmured. “She gave both of us...”

“A second chance,” Helena finished the sentence. “Me, at living and you-“

“At loving,” I said simply. Because that was what I felt right now. Love. 

Helena’s answer was not one that could be heard. But I could feel it. I could feel the way her heart sped up under her skin and bones. “Does that mean y-yes?” she rasped. “Will you help me take care of my heart?” 

“Yes!” I said wetly. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

With that she hugged me tighter. “Thank you, Christie Rose Starling. Thank you.”

I lifted my head. Pressed a hand to her chest again. Felt her heart beat steadily against my palm. I shifted to stand on my tippy toes, and with my palm still pressed against her heart and my other hand on her cheek, I kissed her. Helena Claire Frost, the woman with the most important heart beating in her chest. Now it was my job to take care of it. Because I was the girl who fell in love with the same heart twice...


	44. Helena Christmas Day Later

Christmas Day, Shieldaig 08:25 AM

Helena

I lost track over how long we stood like that. My arms wrapped securely around Christie, and her small palm pressed against my heart. Her heart. Perhaps it was all in my head, but I was certain that it was beating faster in my chest, the blood was rolling quicker in my veins. I felt more alive when I was with her. And now it looked like that I did not need to part with her. She wanted me as I wanted her. I had offered her my heart, and she had willingly taken it. And she would keep it safe like no one else could. 

Christie’s lips was so soft against mine. And even though I had only kissed her once, my lips knew hers as though we had kissed each other a million times already. We easily fell into a rhythm we both could follow. I could feel the warmth from her palm seep through my skin and into my bones. Christie was warming me from the inside. Her lips tasted good. Of something sweet. Chocolate? Strawberry?   
Or perhaps even marshmallows? It was hard to determinate exactly what flavor, and as I kissed her, I thought to myself that perhaps it was simply her. Christie. Unfiltered. No extra added flavor. Just her. I felt her petite hand wander into my hair. She liked my hair. She liked running her fingers through it. I reminded myself to let it hang loose instead of putting it up in a ponytail. If that could make Christie happy, so be it. Hair in my eyes was a small price to pay for her happiness. A very small piece indeed. 

I lifted my hand to her cheek. Her skin was soft. Warm. I wished that it was possible for me to feel her freckles, but I knew exactly where they were. I knew that she had a cluster of them right underneath her right cheekbone, so it was easy for me to run the pads of my finger over them again and again. Christie made a little sound that reminded me of how a cat would purr when it was happy. I was not at all surprised to hear such a sound coming from her. I believe I would have been more surprised if she did not make such a sound. I brushed my fingertip over her cheek once more, and she made the sound again. A teeny tiny little purr. That had to be the epitome of content. What a lovely sound. What an absolutely lovely sound. I would like her to make that sound forever. 

Another brush of my fingertip, and she made the exact same sound. 

By the time we parted, I had finally come to think of exactly what Christie tasted of. “You taste like Christmas,” I told her as I reluctantly released my grip on her. She tasted like Christmas and looked like Christmas in that red velvet dress that suited her so beautifully.

“And you smell like stardust,” she said without skipping a beat. 

You smell like stardust. No one, except for Christie could possibly have come up with that, and I smiled. It was without a doubt the sweetest thing anyone ever had said to me.

“I have a Christmas present for you!” Christie exclaimed, suddenly, as though she only just remembered it. 

“A Christmas present?” I repeated. “But I haven’t wished for anything.” How could I possibly? She had already given me everything I could possibly wish for. 

“Aye, I know,” she said and flashed her dimples as she smiled. “But I bought you one anyway. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I assured. She looked so excited. And even though I had not expected to receive a gift from her, I was curios to see what she had come up with. 

Christie turned around and elegantly walked over Tiny who had collapsed behind us. His only reaction when Christie stepped over him, was to wag his tail politely once.

I looked at Christie as she walked over to the Christmas tree and crouched down. The dress fanned out behind her like a train, and once again I was reminded of a fairy or an elf. Christie could easily have been a fairy or an elf with her long red hair and pointy ears and the red velvet dress with the little cap sleeves and buttons down the back. 

“You’re looking at me,” she said without even turning her head. 

“I was,” I agreed. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” she said lightly. “I like it.”

“Good. I liked when you called me Lena,” I said plainly. No one really called me that. My grandmother always called me ‘Nena’, which I liked too. Sarah sometimes called me Hells, which I still wasn’t sure I   
liked or not. And Kristin had developed the unfortunate habit of calling me ‘Lenny’. Which I absolutely despised. But Lena. I liked that. It sounded like the start of a song. 

“That was an accident,” Christie said and grimaced as she turned her head slightly to look at me. 

“But I liked it.” accident or not.

“Lena,” she murmured and echoed her previous mistake as she rose to her full height. “Lena,” she said again as she turned around. Now she was holding a square shaped package wrapped in red gift wrapping paper and with big, pretty red bow on top. “Lena,” she said a third time as she walked towards me. Then she frowned. “Sorry, it’s just when I hear a certain word, I tend to repeat it. It’s called echolalia. It’s a part of my autism.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” I smiled. “I like it.” and I liked that she was telling me about her autism. I wanted to know everything about her. 

“This is for you,” Christie said as she extended the package out towards me. 

“Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I shouldn’t? But I- oh. That was a figure of speech. Of course.” She chuckled lightly.

So did I. For a millisecond, I was distracted by the way she tugged strands of hair behind her ear, but I could tell that she was eager and impatient for me to open the gift, so instead of stalling, I carefully loosened the bow and then tore through the wrapping paper. The shape of the gift had already told me that it was a book hiding underneath the shiny, red wrapping paper. But nothing could have prepared me for which book. The breath caught in my throat as I looked at it. There it was. Beautiful and leather bound. With the golden, curved letters at the top, and the image of the rabbit underneath it. 

“It’s... It’s The Velveteen Rabbit,” I whispered. Still completely stunned at what I was seeing. All of us had a certain book that defined our childhood. One that we read continuously until it simply fell apart. A book that we remembered well into our adult life. For me, that book was The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. My earliest memory of the book was of my mother reading it aloud to me before bedtime while I clutched my stuffed rabbit and wished that it was real. And my latest memory of the book was of it with its spine cracked and the pages half-torn. Shortly after, the book had disappeared. 

Or had it? It wasn’t until long after that I had started to suspect that my parents had had something to do with the book’s mysterious vanishing. The sensible part of me understood why they had thrown it out. The book had been old. The spine had been cracked and the pages torn and dirty. But the less sensible part of me was still sad that they had gotten rid of such an important token from my childhood. 

I had searched high and low after the book. But I hadn’t been able to find it. And now Christie had. 

“Oh my god,” I murmured and looked back at her. “How did you...?”

“I know the owner of a bookstore who specializes in rare books,” Christie said with a light shrug. “I had Andrew- the owner of the bookstore- look up all the different editions of the book, and then I calculated how old you would have been when you first had it read to you- four years old, aye? That’s when most children starts appreciating books- once I had the right year, I took the chance and bought the edition that matched that year. I’m guessing that my guess was correct?”

A choked little sound escaped me, and I almost felt embarrassed for the tears that had started forming in my eyes. As I blinked, one of them landed on my cheek.

“You’re crying!” Christie exclaimed, utterly shocked. “Have I done something wrong? I’m sorry!”

“No, no, no,” I half-laughed through my tears. “I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I’m happy.”

“Oh...” 

“I mentioned this book to you once,” I continued. “Once. I only spoke briefly about it. And you... You found it.” 

“I’m good at finding books. And I could tell that this book means a lot to you,” Christie said, looking much more calmer now that she knew that I was not crying for any bad reason. 

“It does,” I hiccupped and outstretched my free hand towards her. “Come here.”

She willingly came to me. Stepped into my arms and let me hug her once more. 

“Thank you,” I murmured into her hair. I was hugging her whilst still holding onto the book. “Thank you so, so much! I love it. I love it so much!”

“Good, I’m happy to hear that,” Christie said a bit automatically, and I immediately got the feeling that she didn’t quite know what to do with the gratitude. After a moment, she said: “and you’re welcome.”

As I hugged her, I wished that I had thought of buying her a gift too. And then I realized that I actually had. Sort of, at least. “There seems to be a bunny theme going on today,” I said, on the brink of trailing off because Christie’s hair smelled so good. 

“Huh?” Christie asked slightly muffled against my blouse. 

“Marilla came home.”

“What?!” she lifted her head so quickly, I staggered slightly and almost dropped the book. “Oh, sorry,” she apologized and grimaced. 

“It’s alright,” I assured with a soft chuckle. “She showed up in grandma’s garden, and we couldn’t let her stay out there. The weather was so cold and dreary, so we brought her inside.”

“How did she find her way to your garden?” Christie questioned with wide eyes and lips slightly parted. She looked awfully cute like that. 

“I don’t know,” I said. I had been wondering about the same thing. “She’s simply one smart little bunny.”

“Marilla is not bunny. She’s a hare.”

That had me bursting out laughing. Much to Christie’s confusion. She looked at me with furrowed brows, but instead of giving an explanation, I simply hugged her once more. She didn’t mind that at all.   
Her arms winded around me, and when she asked if I wanted to help her get the book café ready for tonight, I obviously said yes......

20:30 AM

Every little table was prepared with a red and white checkered table cloth and flickering candles. The entire book café smelled of cinnamon and marshmallows. The flames were flickering merrily in the fireplace. Tiny’s collar had been decorated with the red bow that had been sitting on Christie’s Christmas gift to me, and Christie was still wearing her red velvet dress. And to top off that image of perfection, she had created with a scarf and tied it into a sling so Marilla could sit comfortably in it. She couldn’t very well stuff the leveret down her dress tonight. As she had said earlier, it would have looked strange. And felt strange. 

The reunion between Christie and Marilla had been incredibly touching. Marilla had wiggled and squirmed in my arms, and by the time she was handed over to Christie, she had immediately snuggled into the column of Christie’s throat and taken shelter under her hair. 

I looked around in The Storybook Nook. Of course the place was packed with people. Christie had been correct in her prediction. Many people would have been alone tonight if it hadn’t been for her initiative. I had already said hello to Vanessa and her mother and Mr. Jensen and the young man who had lost his mother. But there was plenty of other people too. Margaret. Mr. Griffith, whom I found out was the local post man. Ramona Suarez. A little girl and her brother with their father. Some of Vanessa’s friends. Teenagers and elderly people blending together in Christie’s little book café. I believe that she was surprised at the amount of people who had shown up for her last minute Christmas party. But I was not. Christie was immensely popular. She attracted people like a magnet. 

Grandma had snickered when I arrived home earlier. She had commented on my ‘pink cheeks’, and I hadn’t even needed to tell her that Christie had come home and had worked things out. She already knew that.

‘Are the two of you together now?’ she had asked. And there had only been one answer to that. Yes. Christie and I were very much together. Grandma had kissed my cheek, clapped her hands, and insisted that Christie should come over for dinner. I had agreed, of course, and it hadn’t taken me long to rush back to the book café to deliver the invitation to her. She had been surprised. Had talked about intruding. And I had kissed her and assured her that she was not intruding at all. Both grandma and I wanted her to come. So she had come. The three of us had enjoyed a delicious turkey. Christie had chitchatted with my grandmother, and now and then she had looked at me with the lights from the candles reflecting in her eyes. Furthermore, she had presented grandma with a present. A pair of homemade, red mittens. Grandma had been delighted. And I had felt very guilty when grandma had presented Christie with a present. A jigsaw with a thousand pieces. If fitted together correctly, it would become an image of Tiny. Christie had been overjoyed and thanked us both even though I had nothing to do with it. But at least I had been able to reunite her with Marilla. 

“Eggnog?” Christie asked as she appeared out of nowhere with a cup in her hand. 

“Thank you,” I said, happily accepting the offered cup and reminding myself not to flinch in surprise. I had to get used to her ability to just... appear. 

She leaned into my shoulder, and I wrapped my free arm around her. 

“Are you having a nice time?” she murmured. 

“I am,” I assured. “Are you?” 

“Aye. Lots of people, but for once I don’t mind that,” she replied. “I like it.”

“I do too. You’ve made sure that lots of people won’t be alone tonight,” I said softly. 

She made a very soft little rumbling sound in the back of her throat. “What are you doing tomorrow night, Lena?” she asked and sounded incredibly serious. 

“Boxing day,” I chuckled. “I don’t think I’m doing anything.”

“Boxing day,” she repeated and furrowed her brows as she lifted her head to look at me. “Is that a bad day for you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then.... would you like to come over for dinner at my place?” Christie asked. Her voice was still serious. 

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I’d love to.”

“I don’t know what I’ll be making yet, but I’ll figure it out,” she promised. “What is your favorite dish?” 

“I don’t have one. I’ll like whatever you come up with.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I do,” I said simply and chuckled as Marilla’s little nose emerged from the homemade sling Christie had made. “She’s happy to home, huh?”

“Aye. So am I,” Christie murmured and a sigh that seemed to come all the way from her belly emerged from her mouth. 

I took a sip of the eggnog she had just handed me. It was very nice. Around me, everyone was talking and laughing and sipping eggnog or hot chocolate. Outside the snow was softly falling. Shieldaig would be cut off from the rest of the world tomorrow. But that was alright with me. I could not think of a better place to be stranded. Winter in Shieldaig was something I was already getting used to. I couldn’t wait to experience spring in Shieldaig. I had a feeling that would be equally as special. Tomorrow when I spoke to Sarah to wish her a merry Christmas, I would tell her that I was not going back to London. Or to Miami, for that matter. She would most likely have a thing or two to say about that, but I did not care. I had already made up my mind. 

Christie lifted her head from my shoulder, and I could have been upset about that if it hadn’t been for the smile, she was flashing me. “Merry Christmas, Lena,” she said in that adorable, thick Scottish accent I had grown to cherish so much. 

“Merry Christmas, Christie,” I said and leaned in to kiss her.

Marilla made a soft little sound in her sling, but she did not seem at all unhappy with the situation even though she was being slightly squashed between Christie and I....


	45. Christie 31st of December

December 31st, Shieldaig 05:40 AM 

Christie

It was still completely dark when I opened my eyes. A quick glance on the glowing, red numbers on my alarm clock, told me that it was only 05:40 in the morning. I wasn’t supposed to be up this early. I could sleep another hour if I wanted to. Or longer. The Storybook Nook would of course be closed today. At least officially. I had a feeling that a few customers would come in and say happy new year anyway. I did not mind that at all. Helena and I had plans for New Years too. We were heading up to Applecross to watch the firework from the mountain. And perhaps the Mirrie Dancers. I hoped we would be able to see the ribbon of color on the sky again. Helena had enjoyed it so much the last time we went. I knew that I didn’t have to make Scotland more attractive to her, she already had decided to stay permanently. But still, I wanted to ‘give’ her another round of Mirrie Dancers for New Years. Fireworks and colors on the sky. It would be perfect. 

I rolled onto my stomach and pressed my face into the pillow. I felt awake, so awake. Definitely unable to go back to sleep. The most sensible thing would be to get out of bed and do something useful. 

Like... make breakfast and a cup of tea. Feed Tiny. Give him an early walk. But strangely enough, I did not feel like doing any of those things. Nor did I feel like getting out of bed despite being unable to go back to sleep. In this very moment, I felt unapologetically idle. I wiggled my toes. Tugged my elbow in so it was under the covers. I wasn’t sure why, but my elbows had the tendency to get cold quickly. 

As did my feet. Coming to think of it, perhaps I was cold all over. The covers were quite thick, but not enough to keep me warm on this particular winter morning. And certainly not when my skin was this exposed. I could already feel the goosebumps spreading on the back of my legs. I needed something to protect me from the cold. I braved my unwillingness to get out of bed and did just that. Got out of bed and went over to the closet. Opened it quietly and found my winter pajamas. Slipped it on as quickly and quietly as I could. Bend down and picked up the sweater still laying on the floor. I didn’t want it to get all crinkled. That would be a shame. A slight sound coming from the bathroom made me still for a moment and listen. Then I smiled. Marilla was clearly awake too. I tried to listen through the closed bedroom door, but I could not determine whether she was snuffling around in there, or perhaps munching on a chunk of carrot. She could very well be enjoying an early morning snack. When it came to Tiny, I did not for a moment doubt what he was doing. Sulking downstairs because he had not been allowed to come upstairs last night. I could barely remember the last time I had denied him access to my bedroom, but there had been a very valid reason for the banishing. 

Another sound caught my attention. A slight sigh or perhaps it was just a little puff of air. This particular sound came from behind me, and I smiled softly as I turned around. 

Helena was still fast asleep with one arm slung over her eyes. Her golden hair was spread out on the pillow, and I was immediately reminded of Aurora from Sleeping Beauty. Helena would make a nice Aurora. I remained rooted to the spot as I just looked at her. She looked so peaceful as she slept. And clearly, she was not cold. The covers had slipped and was now only covering her lower body, but I could not see any goosebumps on her body. No, Helena was warm. Warm to sleep next to earlier. And warm late last night when we were not sleeping. The heat had radiated from her hands and had seeped right inside me. I tugged slightly at my sleeve as I thought back to last night. Of course there had been some anxiety on both parts. Helena’s anxiety had stemmed from the way she saw her body. 

She had talked a lot about age. A lot about how she was older than me and therefore her body was perhaps not as- what was that word she had used?- oh yes. ‘Perky’. She had stated that her body was not ‘perky’. The word had sounded so funny coming out of her mouth that I had laughed. And fortunately enough, Helena had not been insulted. She had immediately understood why I had laughed. Because of the word and not because of her. Still, I had apologized for laughing and then told her that I did not want someone with a ‘perky’ body. I had even asked her what a perky body was, and she had blushed and talked a lot about her breasts and how they did not look particularly youthful anymore. I had been genuinely confused over how that even could be a problem. Yes, Helena was older than me. So yes of course her body looked different than mine. But again, why was that a problem? I was not with her because of her body. I did not care what it looked like. I had told her that, and she had smiled and said that she was happy to hear that. Then we had talked about my insecurities. They had had nothing to do with how my body looked. I already knew that I was covered in freckles from head to toe, that my left breast was bigger than my right, and that I had forgotten to shave. I had told Helena that. Including the shaving part. I had even asked if she wanted me to go shave really quickly, but she had said no. She didn’t want that. Because she didn’t care about whether I had shaved or not. It wasn’t important to her. 

Then we had talked a bit about my insecurities. They were not bodily but exactly as valid as Helena’s had been. The only other person I had been with sexually, was Naya. And not that many times. Our first time had been six months after we became an item. Our second time had been on the night we got engaged. The third time on our wedding night. The remaining of our intimacy had been scattered over the first two years of our marriage. Naya had suffered from extreme fatigue because of her illness, and she had often complained about that. Had feared that she did not give me enough. But I had immediately assured her that that was not the case at all. To me, sex was such a minimal part of the big picture. Of course it was a nice way to show your feelings and connect with the person you loved. 

But it wasn’t the most important thing. Or the most powerful way to show affection. At least not in my head. There were a billion other ways to show affection and be intimate. I did not mind having sex at all. But to me, sitting on the couch and cuddling or simply laying together in bed and holding each other close was just as intimate and powerful as sex. I had told Helena all of that last night, and she had smiled and squeezed my hand. Had said that laying together in bed and cuddling very much applied to her. So that was exactly what we had done. We had gone upstairs, stripped down to our knickers only, and then we had slipped under the covers. We had felt each other. Touched one another without aiming for anything. Helena had been a bit silly and had tried to count all my freckles. I had told her that it was impossible, but she had insisted. By the time she had counted her way up to one thousand five hundred, I had been shivering from head to toe, and then it had been my turn to touch. My turn to get to know her body. I had followed the curve of her spine, noticed every little birthmark and traced her ribs. I had grown fascinated with the teeny, tiny grey hairs growing at her temples. Helena had groaned and mumbled something about how she needed to pull those out, but I had begged her not to. I did not want her to loose the touch of silver there was in her golden hair. She had rolled onto her back then, and her cerulean blue eyes had looked almost silver in the faint light, and they had radiated insecurity as she glanced down and looked at the faint, pink scar on her chest. A pink line spanning from just underneath her collar bone and to underneath her rib cage. Instinctively, I had lowered my mouth to the scar and kissed it. That scar was nothing to feel embarrassed about. It was a symbol of her survival. A symbol of the beautiful, special heart that was beating inside her chest. 

The kiss I had pressed to her chest had led to other things. Helena had kissed my freckles. Every single one of them. She had touched me. Everywhere. Softly and gently and in ways that had made my head spin. And her hands had been so warm. I was certain I could still feel the imprint from them on my body. Her lips had been one mine long enough to make me feel breathless. And then her lips had been other places, and I had stopped breathing all together. At least for a moment. My brain had switched off and I had been filled with the most pleasant feeling all over. From the top of my head and all the way down to my toes. Everything had become hushed. Muted. Including me. I had been thinking about that priorly. About how my quietness could possibly throw her off and be mistaken for believing that I was not enjoying myself. That was not the case, and Helena had known. She had not taken my quietness as lack of enthusiasm. Afterwards, she had told me that I had looked so tranquil, and that had made her happy. Overthinking it hadn’t even been necessary. I was prone to thinking a lot and at all times, but I had not been thinking about anything last night. My mind had been quiet. I had been floating through space with Helena’s voice working as a lifeline. And when I had become capable of forming coherent thoughts again, I had touched her in return. Differently, of course. Unlike her, I could not multitask. I had to concentrate on one thing at the time, otherwise I would get overwhelmed, but Helena had not minded. She had enjoyed herself. More loudly than I, but that was alright too. 

I felt a bit overwhelmed this morning, but not remotely in a bad way. I was happy. Very happy.

Helena made another soft sound in her sleep, and that was enough to make me come back to reality and realize that I was just standing and staring at her. Perhaps I should not do that. Perhaps I should get back to bed instead. It was still early. But first I bent down and lifted Helena’s blouse, trousers and bra and knickers. I carefully folded it and put it on the chair in my bedroom. Helena’s pretty clothes. 

It would be a shame if it got all crinkled from lying on the floor. I folded my own clothes and put it next to Helena’s. Then I patted back to the bed and climbed up. My old mattress was creaking slightly, and perhaps that was what caused Helena to stir. She rolled onto her side and opened her eyes. 

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“’s alright,” she slurred. “Have you been awake for long?” 

“No, not that long,” I assured her as I settled on the mattress, propped up on one elbow so I could look at her. 

“You just can’t sleep in, can you?” Helena half-chuckled as she reached out and gently pushed my hair away from my face. Her warm hands touching me immediately reminded me of last night, and I   
immediately felt warm too. Then I remembered that she was waiting for an answer. 

“No, I don’t suppose I can,” I agreed. “But I normally sleep longer than this. Maybe I’ll sleep longer the next time.”

“The next time?”

“Well, if you want to stay over again, that is,” I quickly clarified. 

Helena smiled and the skin around her eyes crinkled slightly. “I’d like that very much,” she said. “Last night was...”

“Nice?” I offered. 

Her smile deepened and an equally raspy laughter followed the smile. “I would have said splendid or wonderful, but nice works too.” she began to draw patterns on my cheek with the tip of her finger.   
“You know, I never finished counting those freckles.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be finished doing that,” I pointed out and considered it for a second. I was covered in freckles. No, Helena would probably never be finished no matter how hard she tried. 

“That’s alright. I’ll just spend the rest of my life trying,” she said lightly. 

I felt my heart rate speed up at that. The rest of her life. That was a long, long time. 

Helena frowned softly when I did not answer. “Am I overwhelming you?” 

I quickly checked myself. Was I overwhelmed? Did it scare me that Helena used phrases like ‘the rest of my life’? No. No, it did not. How could it possibly? The prospect of being with Helena for a long, long time was not a scary one. Not at all. “No,” I said. “No, you’re not overwhelming me.”

“Good. I don’t want to do that,” she said seriously, now tracing the little cluster of freckles I had just below my collarbone. She could only do that because I had forgotten to button my pajama top completely. I lifted my hand and let my fingers cover hers as I applied pressure to them so the feeling of the pads of her fingers against my skin became less butterfly-y. “Bit more pressure,” I said. 

“Like this?” she murmured and pressed the pads of her fingertips into my skin. 

“Mm. Exactly like that. That feels nice.”

“You must teach me how to touch you, so it feels nice all the time.”

“You did fine last night.”

Helena smiled at that. “I did fine because you helped me.”

“That is not true. You were good at touching me. You are good at touching me.”

“You’re good at touching me too. Very good.”

“Good,” I said simply and lifted my hand from hers. Brought it up to her cheek. Helena did not have any freckles, but she had beautiful, porcelain skin with just a tint of red to it. Was that tint of red a remain from last night, I wondered? Was she too still affected from it? 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly and turned her head. Her lips brushed against my palm. With exactly the right amount of pressure. 

“Lena,” I said as an answer. That was still my favorite word. 

Lena smiled. It was her favorite word too. “Christie,” she parroted. 

“You have bewitched me, body and soul,” I murmured, as the memory of a movie we had watched together flittered through my mind. “And I love you.”

Lena’s mouth fell open in surprise at that. Her eyes widened so dramatically, I almost asked if she was okay. But perhaps that was not what I needed to say right now. 

“I’m sorry,” I said instead. “It’s too soon to say that, isn’t it?” that was the most rational explanation why she looked like that. ‘I love you’ was something huge. Something you didn’t just say after such short amount of time. There were certain rules about that. Rules that you had to follow. And now I had failed to do that. 

“Who decides that?” Lena asked, bringing her own hand to my cheek and cupping it. “Who decides what’s too soon and what is not?”

“Well, I don’t know, perhaps-“

“I love you too,” she gently cut me off. “I have no problem telling you that. And I do not care whether it is ‘too soon’ or not. I won’t lie about my feelings until it becomes acceptable to tell the truth.” 

Something that could have been a soft giggle escaped me. 

“This is the first time someone have quoted Pride and Prejudice to me,” Lena said, smiling once more and eyes all ashine.

I felt my cheek heat up under her hand. “Aye, I just said the first thing coming to mind.” The movie had been showing on television a few days ago like it always did during Christmas time. Lena, Mollie,   
and I had watched it at Mollie’s place, and Lena had revealed that she loved the movie. I preferred the book, but I had seen the movie a few times. And once I realized how engrossed Helena was in it, I had started to pay more attention to it. To all of it. Mr. Darcy hadn’t been very good at expressing his feelings towards Elizabeth, and I could relate to that. And when he said, ‘you have bewitched me, body and soul’, my echolalia had kicked in, and I had been repeating the phrase in my head all through that day and the next. I had found it to be exceptionally beautiful. But I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. 

“I loved it,” Lena assured. 

“Really?” 

“Really.” she came closer to me. Warm lips touched my forehead and lingered there for a moment as her hand travelled lower and touched me on the outside of my pajama top. “Do you need to get out of bed right now?” she asked in a hushed tone. 

Need. Not have. I really appreciated that she had said need and not have. Like my usual morning routine was something that could easily be disturbed. But today it could. 

“No,” I said, and my desire to get out of bed vanished.

“Truly?”

“Truly,” I confirmed.

Her fingers toyed with the third button in my pajama top (the one I had actually managed to snap closed) “can I open this?” she murmured. 

“Mmm.”

Snap. A button was popped open. “And the next?”

“Aye.”

Snap. “And the next one too?”

“Yes.”

Snap. “How about the next one?”

“Lena,” I said slightly strained. “You don’t have to ask me.” 

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly and pecked my forehead once more. “But I believe that this is answer enough.” with that she unbuttoned the last two remaining buttons and gently pushed the pajama top to   
either side. She put her hands on my body, and this time I did not feel cold. “What number did I reach last night?” she asked as she touched a freckle on my belly. “Can you remember?”

“One thousand five hundred,” I said immediately. 

Lena chuckled. “Of course you remember. How silly of me to even ask.” Before I could answer, she lowered her head and kissed the freckle. “One thousand five hundred and one,” she murmured. Moved   
her lips a quarter inch to the left and kissed a new freckle. “One thousand five hundred and two.” The same thing happened again. She moved her head just a little. Brushed her lips over a new freckle and counted: “one thousand five hundred and three. One thousand five hundred and four, one thousand five hundred and five...”

“Lena?” I mumbled, getting distracted because I could feel that not only my mind, but my body was starting to wake too. “Are you really going to count every single one of them?”

“Aye,” she teased me. “Every single one of them is worth counting.”

“But there are so many of them. Too many.”

“It’ll be an ongoing project,” Lena chuckled. “I’ll count a chunk every day, and then one day... I’ll be finished.” Her hand slipped a bit lower and rested on my belly now. “If I don’t get distracted first, of   
course.” 

“What could possibly distract you?” I asked and surprised myself by being playful. That did not happen a lot.

“This, for starters,” Lena replied and traced my lips with a fingertip. “I find that to be very distracting. As well as other things.”

“’Other things’?”

“Mmm. Other things.”

“I think you’ll have to show me what those ‘other things’ are...”

And Lena smiled as she did just that. Right before my brain switched off, I discovered that I had found a new thing to add to my morning routine...

December 31st, Applecross

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One.... Happy New Year!” 

Around me, everyone started cheering and hugging and kissing one another. Tiny’s ears perked up at the booming sound it made when the fireworks went off. The loud sounds were a bit much to handle,   
but Helena had her arm around me, and that made everything better.

“Happy New Year,” she said and flashed me a smile. 

“Happy New Year, Lena,” I said and happily turned my head in her direction when she leaned in. Her lips connected with mine for a moment, and then we both looked up at the sky again. The fireworks was lightening it up in every color possible, but in my opinion, it was not necessary. A ribbon of color was lightening up the sky on its own. The Mirrie Dancers were even brighter this time, and I was glad that   
Helena got to experience it again. I liked her expression when she looked up at the sky. She looked completely enthralled by what she was seeing. 

I too looked up at the illuminated sky, and all the laughter and cheers around me disappeared as I found my unicorn in the colors. Naya was there. Of course she was. 

“Thank you,” I whispered to the sky. 

“Did you say something?” Helena asked and gave me one of those squeezes with her arm around my shoulder. Helena gave really good squeezes. 

“Aye, I said thank you,” I told her. “To Naya. For giving me the chance to love the same heart twice.” 

Helena’s eyes grew misty. “I owe her everything. She’s the reason I’m here.” 

I remembered what Julie had said. “She’s made me the girl who fell in love with the same heart twice. And I’m completely okay with that. Because it’s like you said. I’m the only one who can take care of this heart.”

“The girl who fell in love with the same heart twice,” Helena repeated, and I suddenly saw something completely new in her eyes. Something that confused me and prompted me to ask: “Lena?”

“That’s it,” she breathed, now looking completely beside herself. “Oh my goodness, Christie, that’s it! You have just blown this case wide open!” she laughed heartedly, cupped my face and kissed me. 

I did not mind the kiss, but I was definitely confused. “What? What’s it? What did I just blow open? You’re confusing me, Helena.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, kissing my forehead now. “It’s just...”

“What?”

“The girl who fell in love with the same heart twice,” Helena said a second time. “That’s it. That’s what I’m going to write about. You and me. How we met and what brought us together.”

“You’re going to write about Naya?” I whispered. 

Helena’s expression immediately grew more somber. “If you’ll let me,” she said. “Only if you’re okay with it. I will not be writing about her if you’re not comfortable with it. Of course I’m not. I am sorry. I just got so excited, and I wasn’t thinking-“

“No,” I interrupted. “No, no, no! Helena, I want you to write about Naya!”

“You do? Are you sure?”

“Yes! My god, yes!” I said quickly. “You’re the only one who can write about her. And no one will honor her memory better than you.” I turned slightly so I could put my hand on her chest. Just to feel her   
heart beat once more. Even through her big winter coat, I could feel it. Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom. 

“I’ll do right by her,” Helena promised. “It’s the least I can do. And it’s only a small thing comparing to what you’re doing.”

“I am not doing anything, Helena,” I pointed out.

She shook her head and smiled in that particular way she so often did when she found me to be a little bit silly. “You are taking care of my heart.” 

“That is an easy task,” I shrugged playfully. “And it is mine, after all.”

“It most certainly is. Even before I met you, it was yours. It just had to find you first.”

“And it did.”

“Mmm. It did. It found home.” She pulled me closer, kissed the top of my head through the hat I was wearing. “And so did I...”

“And so did you,” I agreed. 

We kissed one another again as the firework kept going off and the sky glowed and looked like something belonging in a fairytale. My unicorn was watching. She was watching me being happy. I truly believed that.

Next to us, Tiny barked. It could very well have been because of the firework, but I chose to believe that he was barking because he agreed with us. Helena was very much home. And Tiny was satisfied with that. More than satisfied with that. Because if there was somebody who loved Helena Claire Frost more than I did, it surely would be Tiny....


	46. Helena, Various Places at Various Times

June 2nd , Shieldaig 08:30 AM

Helena

“Christie?” I poked my head inside as I called her name. “Sweetheart, are you ready?”

“Aye, almost,” came the response. 

I ran my fingers through my hair and smoothened a hand over my coat. I felt the excitement swirl in my stomach, and I could barely wait to get started. 

“Bollocks! Ti-ny! What did I tell you about being in the way? Go! Downstairs! Go find Lena, hurry!”

“What happened?” I laughed as I heard commotion from the bedroom. It sounded like a horde of elephants rather than one dog and one petite woman up there. 

“Nothing,” Christie replied a bit strained. “Just Tiny being...”

“Anything but tiny?” I suggested and congratulated myself with being highly amusing. 

The joke went above Christie’s head, however. “Yes,” she called down the stairs. “Can you make him come downstairs or something? He’s being in the way.”

“Tiiii-nyyyy,” I called coaxingly. “Come here, boy! Come on!”

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump! It sounded exactly like ten elephants had invaded the cottage as Tiny came barreling down the stairs. His tongue was sticking out and he was gasping for air as he came over to me. 

“There you are,” I said and patted his big head. “Are you being a nuisance to your mummy, huh?”

“I am not his mummy!” Christie immediately corrected from upstairs. “I’m his owner.”

Snickering to myself, I quietly told Tiny: “she’s your mummy, isn’t she?”

Tiny gasped in response and tried to lick my hand. Something I would not allow him to do. Instead I grabbed his collar. “Now stay here, you. Don’t bother Christie while she’s busy, alright?” 

Tiny sat down on his arse and didn’t look so happy about having to stay here, but that was just too bad. 

Shortly after, there was a light knock on the door, and before I could even say come in, my grandmother popped her head inside. She was smiling widely. “Oh, good, I caught you before you left,” she said. 

“You sure did. I’m just waiting for Christie,” I replied and kept one hand on Tiny’s collar as I gave my grandmother a quick hug. “Has Marilla been installed?” 

“Yes, and she’s very comfortable with staying with me. Not to worry,” grandma said and chuckled. “She’s following me everywhere. Acting more like a dog than a hare.” 

“She’s been spending too much time with Tiny,” I said and clicked my tongue as I looked down at said dog. “Isn’t that right, Tiny?”

Tiny gave me a ‘who, me?’-look.

“And are you ready to go?” grandma asked and smiled again. “You look ready.”

“I am,” I assured. “I am very ready!”

“Good,” she said and patted my cheek in typical grandmotherly fashion. “I am going to miss seeing you all the time, but I am very happy that you and Christie are doing this.”

“Me, too.” I was beyond happy. Bubbling with excitement. It had taken us months to plan this journey, but now everything was finally settled. Ramona Suarez would be in charge over The Storybook Nook while Christie and I were away. Along with Vanessa, the ever faithful assistant, she would make sure that the book café opened every single day like it always did. 

Christie and I had turned things around in the book café. I had shamelessly taken advantage of my ‘celebrity status’ and given some interviews to various reporters about my new life in the little Scottish village I now called home. I had dropped several hints here and there about the new book I was writing, and combining that with the interviews I had given, had paid off. Many curious people had ventured to Shieldaig to see the little village and the book café for themselves. Christie’s business had boomed after that. So much that we had taken things a step further and launched a website for The Storybook Nook. One that I was in charge of. Christie plain refused to have anything to do with ‘electronical stuff’ as she called it. That suited me fine. I was having lots of fun with the website. I was interacting with the customers online. Reserving books for the customers who came from other villages. Selling and shipping books. The Storybook Nook had been expanded to a book store. For now, only selling rare books that was difficult to find other places, but I had a feeling that the offer would have to expand to other books as well. There was nothing wrong with expanding the business. As long as the place still functioned as a book café. That was Christie’s request. She did not mind seeing her business grow and expand, but it still had to be a place where you could come in and enjoy a book and a cup of tea or coffee. And of course I shared that belief. 

As summoned by my thoughts, Christie came down the stairs with a duffel bag slung over her narrow shoulders. Her long hair had been pulled back in a coppery braid, and she was wearing a cream colored midi skirt with purple polka dots and a matching blouse with puffy sleeves. And ballerina shoes. Once again, she looked like someone who casually had stepped out of a fairytale and landed in Shieldaig. 

“Let me guess...” I teased as I looked at the duffel bag. “More books?” 

“Maybe,” Christie said airily and flashed her dimples in a smile. “I found a couple of more I thought we could use.”

“It’s going to be a loaded drive,” I said with faux concern. 

“Nonsense. I have faith in you Lena,” Christie said sweetly and stood on her tippy toes so she could kiss my cheek. 

I automatically wrapped an arm around her and was fairly certain I saw my grandmother do something similar to swooning. Christie and I were her favorite couple, she had told us one night. And when she revealed that we had stolen the top spot from Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy, I was the one who almost swooned. If we could surpass Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy, my grandmother meant business. 

“Do you have everything you need?” Christie asked and I saw the interest in her eyes as she briefly glanced at the shiny, golden button on my blazer sleeve. Everything shiny still very much applied to her. 

“Aye,” I joked, shamelessly stealing one of her favorite expressions. “I am very much ready to go. Are you?”

“Mm.” she turned her head and glanced at my grandmother. “Hi, Mollie. Have you come to say goodbye to us?”

“Of course,” grandma smiled. “I had to see you off properly.”

Christie showed off her dimples once more. “That was kind of you. Is Marilla doing okay?” 

“She’s doing splendidly,” grandma assured. “Snuffling about in the bathroom and following me around like a little dog.”

“Good,” Christie said as I chuckled. “When you let her outside, make sure that big grey hare doesn’t come round. Marilla is not old enough to have babies.”

“Is that a fancy way of saying that you want her to have babies someday?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. 

Christie lifted her shoulders once. “That’s up to Marilla, innit?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” I agreed and quickly accepted the idea of having the cottage full of baby leverets. That was alright with me. As long as they didn’t come into the bedroom. Our bedroom. I had moved into Christie’s cottage two months ago, and although it had been a little bit of an adjustment for both of us, it worked out wonderfully. As long as I followed one simple rule. Leave the weighted blanket alone. That belonged to Christie and only Christie. A very simple rule to follow. I would never dream of taking her weighted blanket. Not even in my sleep. 

“Shall we go?” Christie asked and pulled me out of my thoughts. 

“Yes. Absolutely. Can I take that duffel bag for you?” I offered. I had a feeling that it was very, very heavy. 

“No, that’s airight,” Christie said lightly. “I got it.”

Grandma and I exchanged a look, but neither of us said anything. It was wiser to keep our mouths shut. Never come between Christie Starling and her books. 

We left the cottage hand in hand and walked outside. Around the house and over to the previously unused parking spot. Now the spot was very much occupied. By the fruit of our hard work. The result of the launch of the website. The result of all the new initiations Christie had made regarding the book café. All the times she had opened The Storybook Nook for the public. The evenings where people had been able to meet for a silent readathon that lasted twenty four hours. The read-ups she had arranged for the youngest generation in Shieldaig. And the books she had parted with. Sold to people who needed them more than she did. All of it had taken time, had cost us blood, sweat and tears and long, long hours at the book café. But it had been worth it. Oh yes, it had been every bit worth it. All of it. 

Because here it was. The van. Christie’s van. Big and proud and painted a shiny red that glimmered faintly in the sunshine. Christie had cried the day we brought it home. A bookstore on wheels. Exactly like she had dreamed of. We had talked a lot back and forward as we tried to agree on a name for the mobile bookstore. My suggestion had been Christie’s Library, but she had dismissed that. She found it self-centered to name it after herself. Many names had been suggested. Second Chance Books. Twice Read Tales. A Likely Story. Rainy Day Books. Tiny Little Books. Starline Books (another suggestion Christie had rejected because ‘Starline’ was too close to Starling). Tiny Little Books had been one of the suggestions that we seriously had considered. Until I came up with the final suggestion. ‘What about The Unicorn Express?’ I had said, and Christie’s eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree. The Unicorn Express. Afterwards, it had seemed so obvious. Of course that was the only name for the mobile library. 

Of course the name should honor Naya. A mobile bookstore had been her dream. She had died before getting a chance to see her dream come true, but now Christie and I were doing it for her. We were making Naya’s dream come true. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” grandma said, clapping her hands together as though it was the first time, she was seeing the van. It was not. She had seen it several times while it was still a work in progress. She had seen Christie and I clean it, attack the rusty parts, paint it, and clear out the inside. 

“She,” I corrected and smirked. 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, muttering to herself about cheekiness. 

Christie did not react to our bantering. She had walked over to the car and was now gliding her petite hand over the shiny, red paint. I chuckled to myself. Christie’s never-ending love affair with the color red. 

“Can I see the inside again?” grandma asked. 

“We’re about to leave, gran,” I half-teased. “And you’ve seen it a million times already.”

“And now I want to see it again,” she mock-snipped. 

“Be nice to your grandma, Lena,” Christie scolded and grabbed onto the heavy doors. She pulled, and they opened with lots of creaking and groaning. We could probably have done something about that, but we had chosen not to. Both of us found the sound to be charming and a part of the aesthetic we were looking for.

Grandma eagerly peeked inside the van, and I could not blame her for wanting another glance. Frankly, The Unicorn Express looked fantastic. Christie had spent weeks of decorating it. It did not matter that the space was relatively small, we had still put our heart and soul into the process. And the result was amazing. Christie and I had helped each other attach fairy lights to the inside of the opening, so the first thing you saw when opening the doors were the tiny, white fairy lights glowing softly and greeting you. Like stepping inside a wonderland. Literally. The old and boring grey floor had been covered in a thick, long haired carpet that was hugely impracticable to clean, but the reddest of red. So of course it had to be that. It could not be any different. And of course the walls were covered in book shelves. Long and tall bookshelves carved in dark brown wood that matched the carpet and aesthetic perfectly. In many ways, The Unicorn Express was simply a miniature version of The Storybook Nook, save for the record player and fireplace. There was not room for any of that. There was barely room for all the books fighting for space on the shelves, but we had made space for a very special device in one of the corners of the van. A dog bed attached to the wall so it could not slide around. A special dog bed with a seatbelt made so the dog could sit up and still be comfortable. It was essentially a car seat made for dogs. A doggy seat, as Christie called it. Tiny would be perfectly comfortable and secure in his car seat during the drive. Of course he was going with us. Everything else was unthinkable. Positively unthinkable. 

“Woof!” Tiny said as he without further ado jumped into the van and made himself comfortable in his plushy car seat. 

“Oh well,” Christie said lightly as she followed him inside the van and strapped him to the dog car seat. “I s’ppose there’s no reason for him to wait around, is there?”

“Definitely not,” I agreed and smiled when I saw the seatbelt being buckled. “He looks very happy.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Christie hummed and gave her beloved dog a soft pat on his furry head and instructed him to be a good boy. Then she turned around. 

I offered my hand as support for her, and she willingly took it as she jumped down. 

“It looks so impressive, girls,” grandma beamed, still glancing at the van. “Makes me jealous that I’m not going with you.”

“You’re welcome to join us sometimes, Mollie,” Christie said immediately. 

“Perhaps. When I feel less old,” grandma chuckled and pulled Christie into her arms and gave her a tight, firm hug. 

Christie returned the hug and gave my grandmother strict orders to kiss Marilla on the head at least five times a day. Grandma promised to do that. She patted Christie’s cheek, and then it was my turn to receive a hug. 

“Have a nice trip, dear,” she murmured into my ear. “And take care of yourself. Both of you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be with Christie.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be with Lena.”

Christie and I looked at one another and then started laughing. It would appear that synchronization was one of our things. 

Grandma chuckled as she released me again. “I have never heard anything more reassuring than that. You take care of each other.” she pointed to both of us with a crooked finger. 

“Take care of yourself, grandma,” I instructed. “Don’t run around and try cleaning the house if your fingers hurts, alright?” 

“And remember to do the exercises the doctor gave you,” Christie chirped in. 

“Oh, you two,” grandma huffed, looking less than satisfied at being reminded of her knee exercises. Her knee was still a bit stiff after the injury she had suffered last winter. 

“We’re only saying it because we love you,” I reminded her, leaning in and kissing her cheek. 

“Enough fussing,” she insisted. “Off you pop.”

I turned to Christie. “What do you say, miss Starling? Shall we?” 

“Aye, Lena,” Christie hummed and once again managed to make the nickname sound like a rare, precious jewel only she could find. “Let’s get going. Goodbye, Mollie. And take care of yourself.”

“I promise I will.” 

Christie and I helped each other close the door to the back of the van. It echoed slightly as it slammed shut, but Tiny took all of that in strides. He already loved his car seat. 

Of course I gallantly opened the door to the passenger seat for Christie and waited until she sitting securely on the seat before slamming the door shut. Then I gave my grandmother an extra hug and finally walked round the van, opened the door to the driver’s seat and climbed in. The door creaked as I closed it behind me, and Christie grimaced just a little as she buckled her seatbelt. 

I did the same. Then twisted the key in the engine once. The car came alive with a huff that reminded me of the sound an older man would make. “Well, miss Starling,” I joked. “Contin first?”

“Aye,” Christie confirmed. 

But before driving anywhere, I leaned in and kissed her cheek Excited about this new adventure we were about to embark on. We had planned the route carefully. First Contin. Then Inverness. Dalwhinnie. Birnam. Aberuthven. Stoneywood. Gartcosh. Kirkmuirhill. Abington. Mossband. Brackenburgh. Roundthwaite. Burton-in-kendal. Scorton. Shevington. Bradwall. Hanchurch. Weeford. Pinley Green. Fritwell. Little Chesterton. Stokenchurch. Beaconsfield. Northolt. And finally, Knightsbridge London. A long, long virgin trip for The Unicorn Express, but I had faith in our little mobile library. Of course she could handle such a trip. Exactly when we would be back, we didn’t know yet, but we had our sleeping pads, duvets and pillows stored away. We had marked exactly where the cheapest hotels were in case, we grew tired of sleeping in the van, but I doubted that was the case. How could we possibly grow tired of sleeping in the van? And we knew exactly where the best grocery stores were. We had everything under control. There was no more planning left. The open road was waiting for us. And hopefully, we would sell lots of books on the way. 

“Lena. Your grandmother is looking at us,” Christie pointed out as she pulled away from me. But she was smiling all the same. Which ruined the attempt at scolding. 

“Well then, miss Starling,” I said in my most British voice because I had discovered that she liked that. “Are you absolutely certain that you have everything you need?” 

“Aye,” Christie nodded. “I even have this...” she reached within her back and waved an all too familiar device in my face. 

I laughed as I looked at the mobile phone, I bought for her a few months ago. Christie had balked when I gave it to her, but I had begged her to take it. I wanted to be able to get a hold of her where ever she was, I had told her. Knowing where she was, was important to me. Christie hadn’t exactly been overjoyed, but she had accepted owning a cellphone, nonetheless. And been relieved that I hadn’t brought her an iPhone. This phone was definitely not an iPhone. It was an old pre-owned Nokia 3390. In red, of course. One of those that would give Christie’s generation heart palpitations. No Instagram. No Facebook. No Snapchat. No form of social media whatsoever. The only kind of none-practical thing on Christie’s new-old phone was Snake. But I doubted she had ever played the game. She used the mobile phone for texting and calling and that was it. She had my number and Julie’s number and my grandmother’s number. Three contacts. She didn’t need any other numbers in her phone. 

“Good,” I chuckled. “That is very important.” 

“Since it can’t be any different,” she muttered. 

I brushed my fingertips over her cheek. “Dramatic, miss-previous-owner-of-an-iPhone.” A few months ago, Christie had blown my mind by revealing that she had in fact once owned an iPhone. But all the notifications from all kinds of social media had stressed her out, so she had gotten rid of it. Just like that. She had thrown it away and had not looked back since. 

Christie smirked a bit at that. “Are you ready to go, Lena?” 

“Very much so.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“Yes?”

“Mmm.”

“Alright, then.” I honked once at grandma, and off we went. First stop, Contin. A little village much like Shieldaig. An hour and nine minutes and 48,2 miles away from here. First village to be visited by The Unicorn Express. The people living in Contin should consider themselves lucky. I chuckled to myself as we drove down the road. Vanessa stopped in her tracks and waved at us. Christie waved back, and I was certain that I saw a hint of envy in Vanessa’s eyes. Grandma clearly was not the only one who wanted to come along. And who knows, perhaps we could indeed bring Vanessa with us one day. Like Christie, she knew a lot about books. If The Unicorn Express’s first trip went well, Christie and I would definitely be taking another trip. We had already decided that. We had talked a lot about driving to Wales the next time. And continue all the way down to Cornwall. I hoped that would be possible someday. I had a feeling that would be a very picturesque journey. But first we were going to be visiting all kind of Scottish cities. Big and small. And then end up in Knightsbridge, London where a very special task was waiting for us. One that made both of us anxious, but we had decided not to think about it until we actually reached London. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Christie’s face. She was grinning from ear to ear. Positively ecstatic at finally doing this. Living her dream. Living Naya’s dream. She was fulfilling her late wife’s last wish. And she was doing it with me. I felt tempted to move one hand away from the wheel and put it on her knee instead, but refrained from doing so. Christie did not like it when I did not have both hands on the wheel. 

“Happy?” I asked instead. Quite unnecessarily, really. 

“Aye. Completely,” Christie replied. “Do you think they’ll be as happy in Contin?” 

“How can they not? How can anyone not be happy when seeing The Unicorn Express?” 

Christie did not answer the rhetorical question. Instead she said: “I packed the notebook Mollie gave you. And the pen. I figured you might need it.” 

“Thank you, I do. I actually need it right now. Could you write something down for me?” I asked. 

“Sure.” Christie reached within her duffel bag and found the notebook and pen. “What shall I write?” 

“’I looked at her and smiled,’” I quoted. “’There were many answers as to why I had chosen to stay. But only one I could think of in that moment. She was a star. And I was a seeker of stars.’” 

The pen scratched against the thick paper in the notebook as Christie wrote. After a moment of silence, she looked up and smiled softly. “That’s beautiful, Lena.”

“Thank you. That’s going to be the last few sentences in the book,” I told her. “And I’ve chosen that the last sentence is also going to be the title of the book.”

“The Seeker of Stars,” Christie murmured. “That’s beautiful too.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. You vetoed calling our mobile bookshop The Starlight Express, but you cannot stop me from using your last name as inspiration for the title of my book,” I grinned. 

“I like it, Lena. I really, really do!”

“I’m happy to hear that, miss Starling.” 

She let out a soft little laughter that nearly melted my heart and made me want to pull over and kiss her. 

“Do you need me to write anything else down?” Christie asked. 

“Not for the moment, no. But I’ll let you know.”

“Airight.” She slipped the notebook and pen back inside her duffel bag. Safe and secure. 

Ever since finding out what my new book should be about, I had been unstoppable. I had been writing every single day. The words had come to me on their own. I had called Brad and pitched the idea for him, and although he wasn’t the most incarnated fan of romantic novels, he had quickly declared that it was a great idea. He had been quite surprised when I told him that I was not planning on coming back to London. So had my parents, but I had sensed that they weren’t entirely unhappy about it. 

Next to me, Christie hummed softly to herself, and I couldn’t think of a better way to start this roadtrip...

Contin liked The Unicorn Express. Of course. Almost every person in the little village had gathered round as soon as our mobile bookshop had arrived, and when Christie opened the doors to the back of the van and revealed the fairy lights and books and one very happy Tiny, everyone had piled together to be the first one inside the van. People had taken selfies inside the van. Someone created a hashtag for The Unicorn Express, and it was safe to say that we had sold books. So many books. It had taken three solid hours before we could continue onwards.  
It had been the exact same thing in Inverness. Although it was a larger city, The Unicorn Express had gained attention the moment it arrived. Eager children and excited adults had taken a peek inside the van. Grown curious and then decided to ‘quickly browse around’. And that had let to more books being sold. I had never seen Christie look so happy about selling books and parting with them. And never had Tiny gotten so much attention. Of course Christie had unstrapped him from his seatbelt when we arrived. She had let him come outside and stretch his long legs. And Tiny, the clever animal had been his sweetest self. He had worked as a people magnet and had ‘lured’ the crowd back to The Unicorn Express. I did not dare imagine what would have happened if we had brought Marilla with us. We probably would not have been able to fit everyone inside The Unicorn Express then. I also sold copies of my own books. Signed a few of them. Those who recognized me found it to be positively baffling, an author who was now driving around in a mobile bookstore with a young bookseller. But each and every one had been envious of The Unicorn Express. Most of the parents present had struggled to coax their child out of the van. And Christie worked as a people magnet. With her sweet smile and charming personality and fairy-like exterior, it was hard not to be drawn to her like I had been back in December. I was still drawn to her now of course, but I was not restless anymore. Because I got to see her and spend time with her every single day. Her presence soothed me. Healed the invisible wound on my heart. 

After Inverness, it was Dalwhinnie’s turn to get a visit from The Unicorn Express. The exact same thing happened. Everyone fawned over the shiny, red van with the name written in huge golden letters and hidden bookstore inside it. Books were sold, Tiny was patted, and we were offered a taste of the whiskey from the local distillery as a thank you for stopping by. I could not drink anything because I was driving, but Christie graciously accepted the offer, and even though I knew she didn’t like whiskey, she smiled dazzlingly and thanked everyone for their kindness. Because that was just the kind of person she was. 

When we were back in the van, right before we were supposed to drive onwards to Birnam, I leaned in and kissed her cheek. I had a feeling that this trip would be a roaring success....

June 22nd , Knightsbridge, London 07:03 PM

We had done it. Visited twenty five cities in twenty days. I was tired. Christie was tired. Tiny was tired. But all three of us were extremely happy. We had slept in the van and only opted for a hotel room three times during the twenty days. We had sold books. New ones, old ones. We had shared our favorite love stories with people hungering to escape into a book with a happy ending. We had found the perfect thriller for those craving a novel that nailed them to their seat and made them bite their nails. We had pointed those who loved historical fiction in the direction of Kristin Hannah, Tracy Chevalier, Lucinda Riley, Bernard Cornwell, and many, many more. We had introduced skeptical teenagers to Jane Austen, Charlotte and Emily Brontë, John Steinbeck and J.D. Salinger. Christie had come up with a new concept along the way. ‘Tiny Recommends’, it was called. It had been a way to get the children’s attention. Christie had been in charge of it, and I had stood back and watched. And the concept had been an utter delight to watch. Tiny had been the center of attention. Literally. He had been sitting in the middle of the van, well-behaved and barking on command as Christie had taught him a long time ago. The concept had been this: Christie had crouched down next to him. Put her ear near his snout. Tapped his chest twice in secret, and Tiny had given short barks in response like he was supposed to. 

Once he had barked, Christie told the children that he had just told her which books he recommended for them. Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery. A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L’Engle. Peter Pan and Wendy by J.M. Barrie. And that was just to mention a few titles. All the children had been completely enthralled and convinced that Christie could speak dog-language, and all the parents had been delighted. Several of them had complimented Christie on how good she was with kids afterwards. Christie had shrugged modestly and said that it was easy to interact with the children when there was a dog present. But Tiny was just half of the reason. Christie was fantastic at interacting with the children. She knew exactly what language they spoke, and she understood it better than most people. When I told her that, she had blushed and shrugged once more. And I had kissed her cheek. Just to make sure she understood that I was being serious. 

The trip had gone better than either of us could have hoped for. Which meant that we most definitely would head to Wales and Cornwall sometimes next year or the year after. To celebrate the success, we had rented a hotel room here in London. We would be staying there tonight and until the day after tomorrow. But first, we had one more thing to do. One very important thing. One that for once did not involve books. 

“Are you certain about this, Lena?” Christie asked softly as she looked out of the window and at the large, white house on Eaton Terrace in Knightsbridge. “You know you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” I replied. “I need to.”

“Okay,” Christie said, accepting it right away. “But if they don’t-“

“I know. Then I’ve at least tried, right?” 

“Aye. You have. And I love you for that.” 

“I love you too,” I said gently and turned my head so I could peck her lips lightly. Today she tasted of the strawberry smoothie we just shared before driving here. I let my lips linger on hers for a moment  
and then I gently brought my forehead to hers, stayed there for a moment. Right now I needed courage. And Christie was my courage. 

She did not tell me that I didn’t have to do this. She simply lifted her hands and cupped my cheeks. Didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. I was pretty sure I could read her mind right now. She was as uncertain about this as I was, but like me, she wanted to follow it through. 

“Alright,” I said after a moment, lifted my head and pecked her forehead. “I’m going now.” 

“I do not know how this will go,” Christie murmured. “But I hope...”

“Yes. Me, too. See you in a bit.” I pecked her forehead one more time and then I opened the car door and exited the van. 

My shoes echoed slightly as I walked up the pavement, and unlike the doors on our van, the gate did not make a sound when I opened it. I walked up the neat stone pathway that lead up to the big white house. It truly was a beautiful place, that could not be denied. But that much space... all those empty rooms. I did not doubt that filled the house’s inhabitants with sadness every so often. 

I stopped in front of the oak tree door and took a deep breath. Then I lifted my hand and knocked gently on the door once. Turned my head and looked back at Christie in the van. She was looking at me. Smiling encouragingly, and for that, she was the strongest person in the world. 

I waited. Tried to listen for any sounds coming from the big, white house. But I couldn’t hear anything. Until- the breath caught in my throat- footsteps were definitely approaching the door. My palms felt all clammy, and I took another deep breath and willed myself not to get too affected by this. I certainly could not cry like I was barmy. That was the direct way to making them slam the door in my face. 

Which they perhaps would do anyway. I held no illusions. 

The door was opened, and a woman in her late fifties or early sixties appeared in the opening. She was tall and elegant, classically beautiful with high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, caramel colored skin, and very symmetrical features. She was wearing a pair of cream colored slacks and a burgundy blouse with wide silk straps tied in an elegant bow. Her dark hair was elegantly cropped in short, tight curls that added to her sophisticated appearance. But as elegant as she looked, she also looked tired. With dark circles underneath her chocolate brown eyes. There was a heaviness to her. A sadness that was so noticeable it almost took my breath away. 

“Yes?” she asked in a low, tired voice. 

“Mrs. Bailey?” it came out as a whisper. Not quite how I had planned this first interaction, but it was too late to do anything about it now. 

“Yes,” she confirmed and raised a neatly plucked and shaped eyebrow. “How may I help you?” she took an extra look at me. “Goodness me,” she said. “You’re Helena Frost. The author.” 

“Yes,” I nodded. “But that is not all I am. I’m also....” my words ran dry. I couldn’t get my voice to obey. 

Mrs. Bailey looked at me. I could see confusion and insecurity in her eyes. Perhaps she was debating whether I had lost my mind. Perhaps she was thinking about slamming the door in my face. 

I pulled myself together. “I... I have something that once belonged to... to your daughter.” 

Mrs. Bailey gasped, and I could see tears springing from her dark eyes. She came out on the porch and stood illuminated by the faint evening glow. She was still looking at me. But there was no anger in her gaze. Not at all. Sadness perhaps, but not anger. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You are the person that got Naya’s heart, aren’t you?” 

I couldn’t answer. I had to settle for a nod. 

Naya’s mother turned her head and called through the open door. “John! Could you come out here, dear?” 

Not even twenty seconds passed before an elderly man in grey chinos and a blue button up appeared by his wife’s side. His hair was grey, but his eyes as alert as could be as he glanced once at me and then looked at his wife. “What is it, Grace?”

Grace Bailey turned to him and whispered something in his ear. When she pulled back, John Bailey looked at me with wide eyes. Then he cupped his hand over his mouth, and his shoulders trembled. 

“I want you to know that Naya saved my life,” I whispered. “If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t be standing here today. I owe your daughter everything. I cannot thank her for having saved my life, but I can tell you that I’ll never take a single day for granted. I will honor her. Every day, for the rest of my life. That van out there -“ I turned my head briefly and looked at The Unicorn Express. "Is a mobile bookstore...”

“What Naya wanted,” Grace Bailey breathed. “It was her dream. Driving around in a van and selling books. I’m afraid we often told her it was a silly dream...”

“But not an impossible one,” I said softly. “She never got the chance to do it herself, so I am doing it for her.”

“How do you know this?” Naya’s father asked gruffly. “How do you know that our daughter wanted a bookstore on wheels?” 

“Well....” I turned my head, glanced back at Christie in the van. “I know because I met someone who knows all about your daughter, Mr. Bailey. I met someone who loved her. Who still loves her. And she’s helping me honoring Naya’s memory.” 

“Christie,” Grace said simply. She looked at her husband. “John...” 

“We’ve been a couple of fools,” John Bailey said simply. “We’ve willingly cut ties with the last connection we had to our daughter, and we’ve been regretting that every day since Christie left the hospital. We often thought about reaching out to her, but...” he shook his grey head. “How can we apologize for what we did to her?”

“It is not too late, Mr. Bailey,” I said softly. “Christie is right over there. And if asked, she’ll come to you.” 

“Please ask her to come,” Grace said before her husband could say anything. 

Instead of asking for certainty, I turned my head, locked eyes with Christie. Lifted my hand and made a slight waving motion. 

Christie opened the car door and stepped outside. Her steps were determined as she crossed the street, opened the gate, and came up the pathway. She pushed her braid back over one shoulder as she lifted her head. “John,” she said quietly. “Grace.” 

“Christie,” John said simply. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Christie came to stand next to me. She took my hand, and the gesture did not go unnoticed by Grace. She glanced at our interlaced fingers.

“I am helping Helena with keeping Naya’s heart safe,” Christie said simply. 

Grace Bailey gasped again, and I saw tears glistening in her dark eyes.

“I think you both should come inside,” John Bailey said gruffly. “It sounds like there is a story there.” 

“There is, Mr. Bailey,” I quietly confirmed. “There is indeed.” 

Grace and John led us inside their large house. Into a living room with white furniture’s and shelves covered in pictures of their beloved daughter. 

Christie and I sat down in the large, white sofa. We kindly rejected Mrs. Bailey’s offer about tea and agreed to John Bailey’s mutterings about sitting down for a chat. Once Naya’s parents were seated in the armchairs across us, I began the story. The story of how I became the seeker of stars. And how Christie, the girl who believes in magic, became the girl who fell in love with the same heart twice.......

The End


End file.
